Shadows in the Night
by RingwraithYJLOVER
Summary: Fem!Nightwing, Richille 'Rickie' Grayson. Same universe as my one-shots, just happens later. Rated T. Genderbent Batgirl, Wally West, and Starfire. Five years after the Invasion, after everything, Rickie thought she'd worked it out. And of course, that's the moment everything chooses to come crashing down. Rickie's confronted by faces from her past and those who want her dead.
1. Chapter 1

**This is the start of my Fem!Nightwing story. It's the prologue, and the letter should explain a lot. Any questions, feel free to PM or leave a review. It's been on my computer for a while, and I've debated on publishing it. Then I had a to-heck-with-it and published it.**

 **The genderbent name of Fem!Nightwing is Richille 'Rickie' Jean Grayson.**

 **I regret nothing. On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

The figure of a proud, well-muscled man stood behind a desk, shrouded in shadows. He was well-dressed in a dark grey suit, with shiny black shoes and a blood red tie. A candle sat on the desk next to man, who had chosen to ignore the light switches.

He was only a fan of modern technology when it suited him.

Besides, he liked the shadows. He was reborn in them. The shadows were his one friend when no one could be counted on. Not his wife. Not his son. Not his daughter. Or both of their children, his grandchildren, but of course one of his grandchildren was unaware of her history. His eldest granddaughter.

The man studied the tapestry on the wall, the design picturing the crest of an owl. The owl had its wings in flight, and held a sword in its talons. It was at least four centuries old, but time was meaningless when you were members of the court that the man belonged to.

The man continued to study the tapestry. Behind him, the nervous messenger cleared his throat nervously. Good. He should be frightened.

The proud man turned around. He asked, "Yes?" in the most impatient tone he could muster.

The messenger trembled, quailing under the cold look that the man was sending him. He dimly noted that the man was slight, and small, with dark brown hair, the usual gold eyes, and skin that could've once been tan. He wore a black shirt bearing their crest, his rank under the crest, and black cargo pants with black combat boots.

The messenger's golden eyes nervously darted around the stone chamber, feeling the chill in the room. The man stayed as still as a statue, waiting for the messenger to get over his shock. Clearly, the messenger was from the lower levels of rank, not high enough to be given certain privileges.

But, he dimly noted, he had been sent to deliver a message to him. That likely meant that this messenger was moving up in the ranks, and relatively trustworthy. Now, this man would not bother pretending to be modest, but he was not adding to his self-importance when he said that he was an important court member.

In . . . ah, _their,_ absence it was his job to make sure order was enforced. The man did his job well, and anyone who saw the cruel glint in the man's yellow, grey flecked eyes could be certain they did not want to know what happened to those who broke the order.

The messenger's hands shook barely unnoticeably as he brought out an envelope, but he had keen senses. Inhuman senses, one might say. In the dim, flickering light of the candle, the man could see everything perfectly, from the stone walls and floor of the room, to his bare dark brown desk, which was completely empty.

The man trusted no one. He had not trusted anyone for a very long time, and saw no point in leaving important information, records, and files where a thief could creep in and steal a look. He took the offered envelope, and read its contents, after making sure that it had been unopened.

The man raised his eyebrows as he read, and the messenger privately found that more terrifying than the cold look. "Is this true?"

The messenger nodded. "Y-yes."

"Very well. Retrieve Feliciano. I must have words with him. There are many plans to be made. It is time for us to retrieve our property that was . . ." The man's lip curled. ". . . misplaced. Go, at once."

The messenger nodded, thoroughly terrified of the man.

Alone, the man reached into his coat pocket and took out a picture of a family of six. His no good daughter's family, along with her nephew, half-sister/sister-in-law, brother-in-law, and husband. But it was the youngest figure in the photograph that interested the man the most.

A blue-eyed, black haired little girl with a smile so bright that, for a man to whom happiness was a forgotten emotion, it hurt. His granddaughter. She had been set to return to him, and claim her inheritance, but an unexpected monkey wrench was thrown into his plan before it could come to completion.

She had nearly been lost in the system, forgotten by public media, until that no-good _Wayne_ came along, and took her away. After that, his granddaughter was impossible to retrieve, seen as a failed investment. She was too well-known to the public to be quietly taken away.

Then she had grown up, poisoned by the ideals of Wayne, and his friends, becoming cemented in her ways. On her own, she was vulnerable, and an attempt was nearly made to rescue their investment, but before it could start it was ended. His granddaughter was too forgiving. It was a weakness that made recovering her not worth the effort it would take to rebuild her.

That would have to be taken care of once she came to him to begin her retraining. It would be difficult, especially since she was an adult. Adults were so much harder remold, which was why he never went after his granddaughter when she was left alone for a second time, this time for good. Adults were set in their ways, while children were easily impressionable.

That was why he intended to get his granddaughter when she was young, and easily manipulated. Everything was perfect, but unseen forces got in the way. Not this time, the man was determined to get what he wanted.

She would be harder to control, her retraining would be so much harder, but it would be worth it. He had followed her career throughout the years, and while she was talented, there was more potential that he could unlock. So many things he could teach her.

The man chuckled darkly. After all, wasn't it his duty, as her grandfather, to teach her about her heritage?

Finally, all the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. "We will meet soon, Richille Grayson. May you not be as disappointing as your mother."

* * *

The scratching sounds of a pen against paper filled the air as a lone girl – a young woman, really, easily at least twenty-two - hunched over a piece of paper, writing furiously. Her black hair hung in a messy bun, and she was barefoot, wearing a pair of sweatpants, and a loose-fitting, old gray T-shirt.

 _Batman,_

 _I have no idea if you'll ever read this. I hope you don't, because if you do it most likely means I'm dead. Enclosed is an explanation of the things that happened to me these past years for you and everybody else I used to know that haven't been in my life._

 _Since I was nineteen. Since the invasion ended nearly three years ago, at the end of December after I turned nineteen. I'm twenty-two now, almost twenty-three, or was if you're reading this and I'm dead._

 _Okay, let's get one thing straight. My first year was the time period I was 19 to 20. My second year was the time I was 20 to 21. My third year, this year, is the time period I'm 21 to 22._

 _The first year was rough. I felt so much guilt and self-loathing, it was overwhelming. I still do, but I can deal with it better now. My friends have helped me deal with it, even if they don't realize it._

 _Before the invasion, you and I still weren't on the best of terms. Never talked outside of the mask, except when Robin 3 and I hung out. Things were pretty tense. I have no clue if they'd still be, if you've had the chance to see me before you read this letter. I doubt it, but oh well. That part comes later._

 _Point is, I never told you where I lived (I'm pretty sure you knew) and didn't tell you what my job was. Or what else I was studying in college. At the time, those things would have just given us more subjects to fight about._

 _They still will, if you somehow pulled a miracle and saved me before I ended up six feet under. And if you found the letter any way, but that is not what we're talking about right now. My job was a bartender at a cop bar._

 _Batman, stop freaking out, and pacing back and forth while muttering nonsense._

 _I'm still a bartender, but I work part-time now since I started my actual job. During those few months after the invasion, one of the things I felt guilty about was that while I was studying for college, I eventually chose to attend the police academy._

 _I never had the chance to tell you, or anyone else that._

 _I finished the police academy with flying colors. I also studied some of the things required to be a cop and a detective, along with my other classes. Technically, I could hold the position of a cop in the field, a CSI, a detective, BPD's child specialist, or run Wayne Tech._

 _But I chose to be a cop in the field. I sub for the child specialist when he's not here, because his assistant sucks. The official child specialist himself sucks, too. He gives me some of the harder kids he has to deal with._

 _My cop partner is awesome. They are like my Uncle, or mom. Nagging me about my health, how I have to think of my needs, make the right choices, blah, blah, blah. You know, they remind me of Agent A. My cop friends are pretty cool, and after a while I started to get to know the usual offenders who came into the station. They're OK, and fun to banter with. A few of them are good people in a bad spot._

 _But I was suffocating. I didn't know any of them well-enough yet to consider them close friends, they were more like acquaintances than anything else. This is where my bartender friends come in._

 _My fellow bartenders at the cop bar really helped me during that first year. I was hurting, Batman. And the people at my apartment building helped, too. My landlord is really nice to me. In fact, I'm positive he has a crush on me._

 _That brings me to the dating field. I have had no steady boyfriend, or any one night stands. I guess I'm just waiting for the right partner, and I've been too busy. Have I gone on dates with a few guys? Yes. Has it lasted? No. And no, I'm not lesbian. I'm not against them, either._

 _College wasn't fun, but I survived it. As for my alter ego life as Nightwing, I was busy. Like I may have hinted at, I was pretty depressed that first year. My ability to fight crime just sort of went POOF!_ _And I was struggling. Roland Desmond, AKA Blockbuster 2, was taking over. He really doesn't like me. At all. Especially since I made that bust when I first started that crippled a third of his empire._

 _But my first year after the invasion . . . I was a wreck so many times. How I still have my job is a mystery to me. Words can't begin to describe the pain I felt during that first year._

 _I stopped believing in myself, and I was drowning. But my friends helped me keep my head a float. They brought me out of a dark place, Batman. I owe them. Don't worry, none of them know I'm Nightwing, or any other hero IDs for that matter. They'll never know what they did for me, but I'm grateful to them all the same. Even if they have no clue what for._

 _The most they know is that I had a big fight with you, my 'family', and my friends, and we broke contact with one another. I pulled myself together sometime in November, a little while before I turned twenty (Which my non-hero friends helped me celebrate, by the way. Thanks so much for wishing me a happy birthday, you and everyone else). I started to turn the tide against Roland Desmond, and I started to pick up the pieces of myself, trying to fix the broken part of me. I started to make some friends at my BPD precinct._

 _It's hard to say which year was the roughest. The second, or the first. The third year, this year, has been pretty easy. The second year . . . I was constantly a roller coaster of emotional ups and downs. I was also a bit of a nervous wreck._

 _I kept hoping one of the people I knew from my hero life would drop by. I also feared it. What if, when you guys dropped by, it brought all the emotions back and I became depressed again?_

 _As much as I wanted to see you, I was uncertain if I was ready to see you. My friends knew it, too. I'm pretty certain had any of you shown up, especially you, Batman, they would have kicked you out before I knew you were there. Maybe beaten you up. As if they could, but that's not the point._

 _They were really concerned for me, and knew that any of you showing up would make me lose my fragile control over myself._

 _Like I said, my friends put a lot of effort into forcing me out of my depression. Even if the reason they thought I was depressed was not the whole truth. They didn't want any of you showing up and ruining any of their hard work if I wasn't ready._ _I'm touched that they would defend me from you. And they have no clue what I did to piss all of you off._

 _I was wracked with nervousness about how I was fighting crime, what I did in my daily life._ _Would all of you approve? For all I knew, you guys were going to come over there and make me stop being a hero. But then I kept thinking how you only banned me from receiving League help, or other hero's help excluding a world crisis._

 _(A little harsh, guys)_

 _You said nothing about whether or not I had to stop being Nightwing. At some point, I stopped caring about what all of you thought of me. It's hard to say it, but it feels nice to admit it._

 _I remembered the reason why Nightwing was created. Nightwing was created when Batman tried to stop me from being Robin. I didn't let him stop me from being a hero then, I wasn't about to let everyone else stop me now. Life is life, and my life is my own to live._

 _And I let go._

 _I loosened up. You guys didn't want to talk to me, didn't want me around. I realized that away from it all, the pressure, the glares, the insults, I felt so much better. I stopped worrying about a place where I wasn't wanted or welcomed._

 _It felt like taking my first breath of air after I had been drowning for who knew how long._

 _I was, in a sense, reborn. I started acting like myself, and just tried to be the best I could be. I was careful to keep my civilian ID and Nightwing apart, so no one would guess that we were one in the same. Before I knew it, the second year was flying by._

 _Being Nightwing was still tough during the second year, but not for the reason's it was tough during the first year. Roland Desmond was increasing his efforts to take over Bludhaven, and only I stood in his way._

 _It would have been really helpful to have you there, but the terms of my exile were that I could only call the League, the Team, or other heroes (Unlikely, since most of them are in the League) if it threatened the world. Like if I had knowledge of an alien invasion, or another Light plot to conquer the world._

 _Unfortunately for my health and sanity, I had none of those things, so I made do with what I had. I have no clue how I'm still alive with all of his attempts to 'remove' me out of his way. But I made it through my second year. I finished college, too._

 _My second year was also the year Agent A got in touch with me again, after one particularly nasty near-death experience, him and Doc patched me up while the other Bats were on patrol. I had sort of panicked and called them for medical help. Then Fox was needed for some tech thing, so he contacted me. Or rather, Agent A had him contact me._

 _Before I knew it, all three of them joined the 'Let's Keep Nightwing Sane & Alive' club._

 _And I had three more mother hens on my ass to yell at me for nearly dying, and this time they knew about both sides of my life. Which meant they had twice as much near-death experiences to yell at me for. Lucky me._

 _When I finished college and the Police Academy, I became a rookie cop at 21 in my second year. I'm turning 22 in a few months, or should be. Still am a rookie cop, it's kind of become my nickname. I love my job, and that was when I started becoming a part-timer for bartending._

 _Funny thing is, me and my fellow bartenders actually see each other more outside of work now. It's_ _because we don't have as much time anymore to catch up after work when the shifts, depending on which day for each person's shift. Being a cop is fun, and Agent A is my emergency contact in case I get injured._

 _He's been keeping me up to date on things that have been happening inside the hero community. I desperately want to see Jaybird, but from the sound of it, he hates me too and wants to kill me. He'll have to get in line and join the club._

 _I_ _'m starting to think they should make t-shirts and hand out membership cards to people who hate me. It might actually make a profit from selling t-shirts, and paying for memberships._

 _There could be a club for people who want to kill me, too, but a lot of the people who hate me want to kill me, so starting a club for people who hate and want to kill me would be pointless._ _Of course, a club like this could exist and I don't know about it. And there are a lot of newbies who can't hate me, really, since they don't know I exist._

 _But we'll get back to my thoughts on the newbies at the end of this lovely letter. I got shot in my side once, on a bust by the BPD, and the paperwork was hell. I'm now convinced hell is wall papered with the stuff. As you can tell, my third year has been so much fun so far. And it's only about halfway done._

 _I got so many old cold cases and cases 'only you can solve' that I was ready to scream, long and loud. They could lock me in a rubber room for all I cared, at that moment._

 _BPD itself is possibly more corrupt then GPD, which is saying something. The guys - and few girls - at my precinct are pretty awesome and supportive. Some, at least. A lot of them have joined my circle of normal friends. The Chief of my precinct, like other precincts, is definitely dirty, and I do not like my Chief at all._

 _I have no clue whether or not Agent A told you I'm a cop when he got the call informing him I was hurt. It happened a little while after I became a cop. I'm guessing not, and he ended up mad at you for a week and you had no clue why. This I because you didn't storm into my place demanding I resign._

 _That's pretty sad, Batman, that I can predict what you would've done had Agent A told you._ _This year, I didn't have much time to think about you guys (until this thing came up and I decided to write this). Frankly, I found it easier that way. No point in thinking of you guys when you didn't spare a thought to me._ _The invasion was my fault._

 _I deserved everything I got for it, and more, but the exile was never meant to be permanent. You just forgot about me. To my own surprise, I found out I was happy doing my own thing, if a little lonely._

 _Life kept me busy, between both my jobs, Roland Desmond, petty crimes, talks with Agent A, Mini-Bat's Wednesday visits, Doc, and Fox, not to mention my social life with my friends. The wound created by my exile, by everyone's hate, became a scab, and then a scar after almost three years._

 _Hard to believe it's been that long._

 _I moved on more completely than I had in my second year. In my second year, it was for the sake of my sanity. Now, it was because I no longer needed you, especially since you didn't affect my life._

 _On some level, I knew I'd always care for you (all of you were once considered friends or family to me), but I needed to let go. And i_ _t needed to be my own choice, not because I had to let go of you for a certain reason._

 _This year . . . I found a lot of interesting things this year. Not counting, of course, my stupid sprained wrist that gave me more paperwork, and a freakin' wrist brace. It's hard to write in, too._

 _If I'm dead and you're reading this, hopefully this can shed some light on why I'm dead. You remember Roland Desmond, right? I mentioned that he hates my guts earlier. That's a bit of an understatement._ _Well the Light, yes, that Light, decided that it was long past due to wreak havoc on the heroes. Plus, Desmond has resources they could use._

 _They made an offer to Roland Desmond that, for him, was really too good to pass up._

 _If he joins the Light, then they'll kill me. Obviously, I'm alive so far, but I have no idea how long that's gonna last. I don't know, maybe I'm already dead and you're reading this letter after I died. That was part of the reason why I made this letter, so you could understand why I died._

 _It's a win-win for both the Light and Roland Desmond. The Light wants to do more than kill me. They want to make an example of me, of why you should not go up against the Light. I guess they found out the plan was my idea after nearly three years. Little late, Light. Glad to know they haven't forgotten me. Unlike some people._

 _(Sorry, did that sound bitter? No matter how much I hurt you, you guys also hurt me. I'm not inclined to forget that, letting you guys stay in my past or not. Some wounds go too deep, some words hurt too much)_

 _They're also trying to send a message to you guys. If I'm dead and you're reading this, I guess you got their memo. TRANSLATION: Bad idea to mess with the Light._ _As for how it benefits Blockbuster 2, I did mention that I'm, like, the only thing that stands between him and taking over Haven because BPD is Corrupt, with a capital 'C'._

 _With me out of the way equals Roland Desmond with nothing in his way. This allows him to expand his 'empire' without it being constantly threatened by me. How am I a threat? I've been the only person to openly go against Roland Desmond and put some actual effort into it._

 _I'm not afraid of what he'll do to me if he catches me. I have nothing left worth losing, or at least that's how it feels. The people around me have everything to lose, and maybe I risk losing them, but they don't know about Nightwing, so they should be safe. I hope. I can't lose them._

 _It would probably break me completely._

 _Blockbuster should leave them be. He's going to go after anyone who's connected to Nightwing, not my alter ego._

 _So, yeah. My year was going great, my life looking better, and then after a few months, life throws a curve ball. The curve ball is the Light and Roland Desmond's deal. T_ _he most I know is that it's Deathstroke the Terminator coming after me. He'll be here in a few month,s by the end of September, start of October at least from what I've heard._

 _I'm writing this letter some time at the end of June._ _If you doubt me, because in the words of Lagoon Girl I'm a traitor and a liar, then check the date of this letter. If I'm dead and you're reading this, my dying request is that you give Roland Desmond and his 'empire' hell. Take him and his 'empire' down, and at least try to protect Bludhaven._

 _If you don't do it for me, for our history together, fine. Do it for the people left at the nonexistent mercy of Roland Desmond. If not for me, then for them. Please. They did nothing to you, they're innocent, and deserve your protection._

 _I've done what I can, but I can't do anything now that I'm dead._

 _OR if I'm not dead and you somehow found this letter and are reading it, do me a favor and leave me be. Seriously, I mean it. You'll be doing a favor for both of us. If we saw each other again, it'd bring up too many raw feelings, too much hurt, too many bad memories._

 _I miss you guys, and will always consider you family and friends, but I'm done. I'm just tired, I'm done, and I don't want to go back to being the punching bag._

 _If you're gonna hate me and insult me, the best thing you can for me and everyone else is to forget about me. Like you already have, considering I haven't had any contact with anyone from the hero community for about three years, a little over that._

 _This includes League and Team villains, and all the heroes' Rouges. I've kept to myself and fought my own demons. It's time to for **you** let me go, like I've let you go. Move on. Please. I'm no one to you guys, and I know that none of the younger heroes know me. The only thing they know is what I did to piss all of you off enough to get exiled._

 _The only reason you're likely thinking of me for the first time in years is because I died, and you found this letter. Whatever family the heroes used to be when I was younger, we aren't that anymore._ _There is no family now, only lies and secrets, and I don't want any part of that anymore. I'm done with that schist._

 _Speaking of family, this brings me back to the new additions to the Bats. Agent A has been keeping me up to date. I wasn't kidding earlier when I said I wanted to see Red Hood. I know he's the second Robin brought back from the dead._

 _Red Hood, I'm talking to you directly. I still think of you as my little brother, even if you hate me. And I'm both proud and disappointed in you. You kill people, and you know how I feel about that._

 _On the other hand, you're still fighting crime, in your own way of course. The only thing that I ask of you is to quit the cancer sticks. I know you won't believe me when I tell you that all of us missed you, even Batman, but I'll say it any way. And try to talk to the rest of the Bats. At least talk to Agent A. He misses you for sure._

 _I know that you got your own place and you attend school to finish your senior year. Getting taught by Batman and Agent A has allowed you to get by with passing grades so far, but still. Eventually you'll need a tutor, and as I said before, at least talk to Agent A._

 _Agent A can help._

 _Another thing, and I know it's silly. Happy fifteenth birthday, happy sixteenth birthday, and happy seventeenth birthday. Sorry I wasn't there for all of them, and any future one's as well. Being dead is kind of an obstacle to that._

 _Knight . . . Technically, you're not a new addition, but I haven't talked to you in a while. I remember when I found out you became Batlad, it was shortly after Red Hood became the second Robin._

 _Honestly, I thought Batlad was the stupidest name you could have picked. I was incredibly happy that Batman got you to change it to Knight before the press got wind of you._

 _Especially since you weren't really a boy, more of a teenager. A fifteen-year-old Batlad. When you turned eighteen, we would've had two Batmen running around. The villains would've had a heart attack. Or died from shock. Either one._ _Not that that would be a bad thing. It'd make our jobs, and lives easier. I might've lived to be thirty if that happened._

 _Now you're twenty-three, you're Knight, and you have your whole life ahead of you. I guess I just have one thing to say to you. You taught me that life's much to short, and at any time it could end. But know that no matter where you are, you will always be my best friend._

 _Or guy friend, at least._

 _And Knight, happy twentieth birthday, happy twenty-first birthday, and happy twenty-second birthday. Sorry I wasn't there, but I guess we're both at fault there._

 _Robin, you're the third to bear that name, and you've worn it well. I'm immensely proud of you. I heard of your bad relationship with Mini-Bat, and I hope that someday you give him a chance._

 _I'm so sorry. For everything. I never wanted to hurt you. I still don't. You're my little brother, always have been. I've known you since you were eight, and I've watched you grow up. But I haven't these past two (nearly three) years, because of everything._

 _Don't worry, and try to be more confident. I know you well enough to know that if you want to do something, you can do it. Stop doubting yourself. Schist, I sound like some old cheesy inspiration video played in school gyms at assemblies._

 _Do I really have to write some cheesy long essay to get my point across, Robin?_

 _On a different note, happy fourteenth birthday, happy fifteenth birthday, and happy sixteenth birthday. You're in, what, sophomore year? Junior year? I remember sophomore year. Don't even get me started on junior year._

 _Damn. That makes me feel old._

 _Batman, you're a stubborn ass. There, I came out and said it. But . . . You're still my mentor, still my father in a way. Even if you are a stubborn ass. Even when we fight._

 _I hope that you're not mad at me, but I know that's unlikely. The most I hope for is that you at least, like me, see the stupidity of the fight that caused us not to talk. You were the only hero I had still sort of on my side after the invasion._

 _The others were the anti-hero Catwoman, Doc, Agent A, and Fox. Then we had a fight about, well, that. If I'm dead, it means we most likely never made up, and you'll blame yourself._

 _I'll admit, I'm still pissed at you, Batman. But I also don't want you blaming yourself to the point where you shut people out. I'd like to believe that even downright furious and pissed off at me, some part of you still cares._

 _Agent A, you're incredible and no way would I have made it through these past four (nearly five) years without you. I can never thank you enough for everything that you've done._

 _Doc, you are amazing, and you sincerely helped me out when Batman had no clue what to do. Like with Agent A, I can never thank you enough._

 _Fox, you're a genius. And you are an incredibly patient person to deal with Batman. So are you, Agent A and Doc. All of you helped me survive, even though you shouldn't have been talking to me at all._

 _Spoiler, you seem like a nice person. I heard that you're living with Apollo's Mom in Gotham. I'm sure she loves that. You also seem like the kind of person that, had I ever or should ever meet you, would become like my sister._

 _I know you've never met me, and most likely if you're reading this never will. But . . . Keep on being a badass, and represent the girls in a man's world. Let's face it, because we're girls, we are underestimated by the guys. Show them why we shouldn't be underestimated._

 _Black Bat, I heard that Batman took you in and Spoiler is your best friend. You seem pretty nice and kickass, and I wish I could meet you. I'm repeating some of the same things I said to Spoiler, but I don't care. The be-a-badass-girl part applies to you, too._

 _As someone who also had to learn English, I know how hard it is to learn if you don't speak it. English is actually my third language. The first is Romani, language of the gypsies, and the second is Romanian._

 _I know your story, and how the only people you trust are limited to Batman and Spoiler. But when I was learning English, Agent A really helped me out. You can trust him._

 _Doc has saved my life more times then I care to count, and Fox gives great advice. So does Agent A, but he's one of those can-do-everything people. I don't mean that as an insult, but as a compliment. Agent A is amazing._

 _I-I can relate to some of the struggles you're facing. Before Batman took me in, I spent time in Gotham Juvenile Detention Center. Or Mini-Arkham, as the inmates call it. I know what it's like trying to learn to trust, but please, try. Try and don't stop trying._

 _I also know some things are different. I already knew a language, even if it wasn't English, and I've been told that I naturally trust people easily. I've also been told that is one of my best and worst qualities. Never give up, Black Bat. Fall seven times, get up eight._

 _Last but in no way least, Mini-Bat. Also known as: the random kid who showed up at my apartment at three in the morning on a Wednesday. You're so lucky none of my neighbors saw you, you little shit._

 _Of course, you'd say something right now about how you're superior to them and it comes as no surprise the simpletons did not notice you. For me, it was a surprise for you to show up demanding to fight me to prove your worth. With all the shouting going on, you'd think the neighbors would notice. I'm amazed they didn't._

 _I can't believe you showed up at my place to meet, in your words, an unworthy outcast to understand why Batman took me in. In a way, my fears someone from the hero community would pop up at my place randomly was justified, because you showed up, Mini-Bat._

 _Is it wrong to feel some small amount of satisfaction from that because I was right?_

 _Never mind. I just didn't expect it to be someone I didn't know who's half my height. I'm pretty sure even **I** wasn't that short as a seven-year-old. . . . Nah, I probably was. Unfortunately for me, Mini-Bat, you'll probably end up taller than me._

 _I have to say, you are an awesome little brother. You keep me on my toes, ever since that first Wednesday. Is it bad when you come to expect your little brother popping up in your place at three in the morning on Wednesdays as part of your life? Then again, my normal is different than a lot of people's._

 _You're the only Bat that I've seen face-to-face. I haven't seem Doc, Fox, or even Agent A face-to-face in a while despite how much I talk to them. I wish you the best of luck, Mini-Bat. Though you'll probably say it is impossible to wish for things and call me an imbecile._

 _But I've gotten used to you, you adorable little ball of death. You've got nothing to prove, Mini-Bat. You're one of a kind. Trust me, I mean that as a compliment._

 _I hope you someday loosen up and let people in. And discover your own sense of humor. When it comes to us Bats and Birds, our humor tends to go out the window and explode when it hits the ground until there's only ashes on the ground._

 _In other words, our senses of humor suck, and are a bit warped._

 _My friends, who had no clue why I was depressed, kicked my ass and got me to laugh again. But it took a while, and for a long time I was on the edge of breaking down with no one there to save me._

 _I guess all's I'm saying is that you don't have to act like the other Bats just because of who you're related to by blood. All of the other Bats have personalities, they just tend to be dark. What they need is a light to guide them from the darkness._

 _Someone to remind them that it's OK to laugh. From what I've been told, you have your own darkness. Fight it. Don't let it consume you. As someone who has had to deal with my own demons, I wish I was there to help you. This, however, is your fight. It's your call to ask for help fighting. Just remember there are some fights you can't win on your own._

 _You're a good kid, whether you believe it or not. I believe in you. There's good in this world, Mini-Bat, and it's worth fighting for. If I'm dead, don't let me die for no reason. Don't kill Roland Desmond, or Deathstroke, or anyone else. Prove you're better than them by showing them what they didn't give me: Mercy._

 _I'm taking a guess on that, because I have no idea how much you trust me or care whether or not I live or die. But over the nearly two years (You showed up in December about two years ago; I had been 20. You scared the crap out of me) I think you've warmed up to me._

 _I have no idea if the others have noticed it, but I have. Judging by the multiple attempts to kill Robin, I'm guessing both of you haven't warmed up to each other. Give everyone time. Eventually, they'll trust you._

 _Happy ninth birthday, Mini-Bat, and happy birthday to any after that. Sorry I'm most likely not gonna be there. Being dead and all kind of wrecks any plans I have. I love you, little bro. Stay gold._

 _I give you permission to yell at me if I'm not dead. Not that you need it._

 _I'm going miss all of you, the League and the Team included. Whether or not you miss me, I don't care and I really don't want to know. Twenty-one years (nearly twenty-two) on this earth are not, but I think it might be enough for me._

 _I had a good run. It's just my turn for death to come to me, albeit a little earlier than I'd hope it would. I never expected to live long after seeing so much in the years I've been a heroine, but I at least hoped to make it to twenty-eight._

 _I guess we all have to deal with the hand life has dealt us, no matter how crappy. I don't really care about what you guys do for a funeral, just as long as my body is buried six feet under. Or cremated. The thought of being worm food makes me shudder. I don't deserve a memorial, so if you're considering one, don't put it up._

 _I might have to come back to life just to destroy it. As for what you choose to do with this letter . . . Either hide this letter really well, or burn it. It's kind of my last parting gift to all of you, even if it's a pretty sucky gift, but I couldn't leave you with nothing._

 _Burning it is totally understandable, especially because of the rather revealing info in here (and if you don't want my final gift, either, but it's my way of offering you an olive branch in death, a way to make amends with each other when I can't be there to do it)._

 _I know there are things in this letter that could possibly be used to discover heroes IDs. And add fuel for G. Gordon Godfrey's argument that the League is bad, that they're secretly plotting against the world._

 _As if._

 _After all the times they've-Team included-saved the world and keep people free and safe, we'd take over the world. In my own opinion, that is a load of bullshit._

 _Sadly, everyone always seems to believe the bullshit._

 _Signing Off for the Last Time,_

 _-Nightwing_

Rickie Grayson sighed as she finished the letter. She glanced over at the clock from her spot at the table, and saw it was nearly four in the morning. She shook her head, and went to her room to sleep. She seriously could use some.

* * *

 **Please review. It's great incentive to update again, especially since I already have the next chapter. Seriously, though, let me know what you think. Review.**


	2. Getting Started

**I figured you'd need more before you took more interest in the story. The prologue didn't give you much of the story, just the letter.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

Rickie had trouble sleeping. Her mind kept wandering to the letter she wrote. She really wished she didn't have to write it, but she couldn't leave them with nothing. Richille Jean Grayson knew she only had months live before Deathstroke the Terminator came. And there was a reason he was called the Terminator.

Deathstroke was good enough that Batman has trouble beating him. He took down half the Justice League, and managed to nearly escape. Batman caught him, barely. In short, she was terrified of him, and for good reason. More than just the Batman reason. She'd had run ins with Deathstroke when she was with the Titans.

But she felt an odd sense of peace, a knot of fear about her future that for so long had been uncertain disappeared.

Rickie was determined that if this was going to be her couple months living, then she wouldn't be mopey and depressed about it. She'd be herself. For the sake of her friends, the ones who helped her after the invasion. Her alarm went off, and Rickie groaned. She rolled out of bed, slamming her hand down on the annoying device.

Quickly, she slipped out of her pajamas, and slipped on her undergarments. Then Rickie put on her police uniform, feeling like she had a death sentence on her head. Oh wait, she did. Her hair was still in its messy bun, so she hurriedly brushed it, and put it in a ponytail.

Thankfully, the media has no pictures of Nightwing, as she tended to avoid cameras, and didn't allow baddies to see her in direct light. Nightwing preferred to stay concealed in the shadows, and annoyed the living daylights out of bad guys by taunting them. It was her version of fun.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. She felt a headache coming on. Good thing she was technically banned from active police duty. Of course, her fellow officers didn't know about her exploits as Nightwing, but she hurt her wrist as an officer. As for the public, and Nightwing . . . After being Nightwing in Bludhaven for five years, she was still considered a rumor. A myth.

The police and Nightwing have a slightly worse relationship. It doesn't help matters that a large number (almost all of them) are corrupt, and the ones that aren't are afraid to speak out. They enjoy life, and they don't want to see their family die.

And the (corrupt or not for the most part) police will do anything to deny Nightwing's existence. Yes, even the non-corrupt ones like her partner are all for denying her existence. She had even been shot at by the stupid police officers.

To explain the dropping crime rate (still second highest in the country, but some crime was down) another rumor started up that Nightwing is just a myth used by cops to strike fear into criminals. Ha. Most criminals laughed when they saw that she was a young woman dressed in a skin tight suit.

And of course, Nightwing was not a myth, because she was Nightwing. Some news reporters have expressed a desire to find out whether Nightwing existed or not, but none of them wanted to go into Bludhaven. Lucky for them, that was the city Nightwing is rumored to be in.

In the end, she was left alone. After it being that way for so long, she kind of preferred it that way. Rickie straightened out her uniform, before snagging her dark navy, almost black rain coat. She took a few more moments to do a mental check of everything.

Rickie glanced around her room. She had a queen sized mattress with a dark blue cover that was light blue on the other side. She had white pillows, and her room was shaped like a square. She was facing the wall away from the bed, and to her right was the door that went into the hall.

On one side of her bed was a table dresser, and at the foot of her bed there was a huge trunk. She didn't have a closet. Towards where she was facing was a long dresser that had a mirror on it. The dresser itself was old, a dark, light-ish wood.

Many things were cluttered on the dresser, and a tack board on the wall to the right of the door held lots of photos. The dresser had her work clothes (shirt she had to wear for bartending and her BPD uniform she currently wore) with her casual clothes in it. The trunk had shoes, while the bedside dresser had her undergarments and socks.

On the long dresser there were a few picture frames. One was of her parents, John and Mary Grayson. She had her mom's blue eyes, and her father's black hair. On the wall across from where the door and the tack board was, she had a window that looked out over the street.

She had long since grown used to hearing the sounds of the city at night. Besides, the lights on her street were the orange eco-friendly kind and she lived in a quiet neighborhood. For Bludhaven, that is. Right now, the window showed a gray sky, and rain pitter-pattered against it. Not the best kind of weather.

She had a tan carpet that was soft, but not shaggy. Her walls were white, though they looked a little yellow at night in the street lights . . . Rickie shook her head to clear her thoughts. She placed her phone in her pocket. Time to head to work on a delightful rainy day.

She glared at the clunky black brace on her arm, the kind with straps to hold it in place. She had sprained her right wrist on a police bust a week ago. Instead of just wrapping it, the doctor insisted on putting it in the damn brace. It wasn't even that bad!

This made her night life as Nightwing more difficult, but she could deal with it. She'd dealt with worse. Mostly, she was just angry that she was - for now - stuck on desk duty for as long as it took her wrist to heal. She hated paperwork. And she got everybody's cases because they're too lazy to do them.

She definitely needed an aspirin. For a moment, Rickie debated on bringing the whole bottle to work. It was going to be a long Monday. She didn't get off until six at night, and she started at seven in the morning. Currently, it was 6:30 A.M. Already she felt like face-planting into her bed for some much needed sleep.

Looking longingly at her bed (Sleep:something as a night crime fighter, she desperately needed), Rickie turned to leave.

She walked out of her room and into the hall. Her room was the furthest on the right. The room across from her was the one Tim claimed when they were on better terms. The room next to her was the one Jason claimed. Both were originally meant to be guests' rooms.

So much for that idea.

The room across from Jason's was the bathroom, which had light blue walls and white tile for the floor. The hall way had light wood floor boards. The walls were a light yellow. At the end of the hall way, to her right when she came out, was a window that led to a fire escape.

The window looked like it was sealed up and wouldn't open, but Rickie knew that wasn't true. To get to the Nest, her HQ as Nightwing, you would climb down the fire escape and take a secret passage that would lead to an old Cold War bunker under the partially used building next to her apartment building.

When Rickie had first found the bunker, she had been surprised. It wasn't on the blue prints, because sometime after the end of the Cold War the building had been knocked down and rebuilt. The bunker was never added to the blue prints.

Gotta loved those forgetful old cranky guys who conveniently left an abandoned bunker to be used by a superhero.

It was an ideal place for her base as Nightwing. And because of the way the building alley way twisted, the fire escape wasn't visible from street view. This allowed her to go up and down without being seen. That didn't mean she wasn't careful, Bat paranoia and all.

In earlier days, she remembered sadly, the phone booth that was placed at the corner of the alley (making it invisible from street view) was a well-used Zeta tube. Now it went unused. She turned to walk down the hall way.

Rickie had a bad feeling something was going to happen today.

Coming out of the hall way and into the living room, she walked to the door, grabbing her hat off the wooden coat rack next to it. She loved the old coat rack. It wasn't attached to the walls, but stood on its own.

Rickie left, locking her door on the way out. She walked through the streets to her work, and kept her head down trying to avoid the rain. She had flipped the hood of her jacket up. Thankfully, she had the sense to not wear her hat, which would've made it hard to put her hood up.

She just carried it to the station. Bludhaven's streets were pretty empty, like they always were on a rainy day. It was cold out, the kind of wet, miserable cold that made someone want to curl up under a blanket inside. When she got to the station, she was relieved. As she was clocking in, Rickie heard a familiar voice call out to her.

"Hey, Rookie! How's your morning been?"

Mike O'Connor, one of her friends and fellow officers at Bludhaven Police Department Precinct 12.

Officer Grayson. Bruce would flip if he knew. "My morning's been going fine, if anything I think it's a little wet. And how many times have I told you? Call me Rickie, Mike."

Mike let out a laugh. "You're fighting a losing battle there, Rookie."

Rickie let out a groan, throwing her head back for dramatic effect.

"Don't call me Rookie!" She said in mock anger.

Someone laughed. Drew Fitzgerald, another of her friends and fellow officers. The woman was about five years older than her, but they got along just fine.

Drew spoke. "Mike, leave poor Rookie be. She hasn't had her coffee yet and she's on desk duty. Speaking of which, can you solve my case for me, sweetie?"

Rickie was tempted to start cracking up. Between Drew and Rickie, it was sort of a running joke to impersonate Jasmine Long. Jasmine has a . . . reputation. As a total b*tch.

She gasped in mock horror. "You've become one of them!"

Drew frowned in concern. "Seeing aliens, sweetie? Sweetie, you know it doesn't help to improve our reputation when one of our officers goes to the therapist. Take it out on the perps, do some anger management, sweetie. We need to preserve our good reputation, you see."

Both Mike and Rickie started cracking up. BCPD did not have a good reputation. At all. They had possibly more corruption in it then GCPD. Some of the corrupt cops were in Rickie's precinct, which had thirty people in it, included Jasmine and the Chief of her precinct, Redhorn.

Any good cops were too afraid to point fingers, it was too high of a chance they'll be killed. Part of the reason she joined was to try and get rid of some of the corruption. Any tries she made will have to be discreet. So far, she hasn't done anything, she was still too new to the department. Suspicion would automatically fall on her.

"Something funny, Rookie?" Arnold 'Archie' Roarbach asked.

Archie was her cop partner. He was around thirty, and reminded her of Alfred with the way he was always nagging her about her health. And he was sort of like her uncle, practically adopting her and taking her under his wing.

"Nothing, sweetie." Rickie managed to reply with a straight face.

This caused Drew to lose it and start laughing. Mike, who had stopped laughing, burst out laughing again. Archie cracked a smile.

He rolled his eyes, attempting to cover it up. "Think you're so funny, don't you Rookie?"

Rickie stuck her tongue out at him. "I have to go to my doom - I mean my job at desk duty, so enjoy whatever the heck you're doing on your shift."

Mike frowned. "I'm stuck with clocking people for speeding on the highway to Hell."

Rickie didn't even bat an eye at his words, only giving him a look of faux sympathy. Mike gave her the finger. She stuck her tongue out at him, and laughed.

Drew whapped Mike upside the head. "Language."

Mike just gave his partner (who was the senior partner in their partnership, actually) a look. "You don't understand. It's the Highway to Hell. With _you_."

Mike shuddered. Drew smirked.

It was sort of an old joke. The highway led to a bridge that led into Gotham. There was a joke between the BCPD and GCPD. An old officer once joked that if Gotham was hell, then Bludhaven was hell's kitchen. The joke stuck. Therefore, the highway to Gotham was known as the highway to hell.

And the drivers on it didn't have the best reputation as being law-abiding. Any officer clocking people on it would have their hands full. And Drew, well, wasn't the best driver.

"Well at least you're with me, partner! Come along, dear Michael," Drew said cheerfully. She was Mike's police partner, "Let's go stalk poor unsuspecting drivers, and give tickets to the ones who are assholes!" Drew's grin became crooked. "If we're lucky, we might even have to chase a car down."

Mike's face turned into an expression of horror. He mouthed 'HELP ME' as Drew said bye and dragged him off to the police cars. Rickie did not envy him. Drew was definitely not the best high speed chase driver. Long story short, after an unfortunately series of events, Rickie had actually puked after being on a car chase with Drew.

And she grew up with _Batman_ driving the frickin' _Batmobile_.

Archie let out a laugh. "Poor guy." Turning, he said, "I have our case to go work on."

Rickie perked up. Following him, she asked excitedly, "You finally got a lead?"

The case was one they had picked up a while ago. A serial murderer was targeting and killing young adults. The killer got wind that BPD was on his trail and, bad reputation or not, the killer did not want the cops on their tail. They dropped completely off the map. It was so frustrating.

Archie shot her an apologetic look. "Because you're on desk duty, you can't really do anything. Maybe look over the files I got. If it makes you feel any better, I have to meet with Redhorn and discuss it."

Rickie frowned, then winced at the Redhorn part. The burly man did not have the best reputation. She slumped her shoulders, dejected. "Fine. Sounds good. I'll go and slowly lose my mind on desk duty."

Archie tried to be complacent. "If it makes you feel better I can try to get Captain Redhorn to let you work with me on the case. We _are_ partners, and we did start this case together."

Rickie shook her head. "Nah, its fine. You can try, but I doubt you'll convince him to let me work on it."

Archie sighed. "Alright, kid. Try to stay sane on desk duty, will ya?"

Rickie cracked a small smile. "No promises."

Archie shuffled the case file in his hand that Rickie hadn't even noticed was there until now. He made for Redhorn's office, while she made a dash for their office. Rickie made her way past the confusing mess that was the offices of Precinct 12. There were thirty cops at her precinct.

They were partnered into pairs of two, which made for fifteen pairs of two partners. Each partner had an 'office' they shared, which made for fifteen offices. Thankfully, they had enough offices for everyone, so no one got cubicles. Precinct 12 was kind of ignored by the head of the police department.

The building was two floors, but the second floor was a balcony around the top of the first with doors leading to higher up officer's apartments. Straight ahead from the door she walked in was a hallway that led to the back, where most of the offices were.

There was another hallway on the other door that led to different offices in the opposite corner. All of them were cramped, with barely enough room left from the two desk to walk around. Rickie's office she shared with her senior officer Archie was in the very back corner, tucked away from traffic.

She knew the layout of the building, as confusing as it was, and where everything was, including the interrogation rooms, and holding cells.

Chief Redhorn (Jasmine was his partner, she had her own office next to his) had his own office (like that didn't send up red flags with Corrupt on them), and then there were the other parts of the station, or 'house' as the officers called it. There was the holding cells for the people who had to stay a night, the interrogation rooms, and the break room, or crash pad as it was sometimes called.

There was the records room, filled with old speeding tickets and accident reports, among others. The cases room with both solved and cold cases in it. The area opened to the public (so they could do things like report a theft or a missing person) was a lobby area/waiting room. That was where she had met Mike, Drew, and Archie.

It had a big half circle desk with multiple receptionist at it. Two doors at the end of either side of the half circle desk led to the rest of the house, but mostly they pointed straight ahead down the long hallways to the offices.

Chairs were pushed against the wall, and it was a lot like a crowded high school hall way after the bell rings and everyone attempted to make it to their next class on time.

People bumped into each other, all trying to be first. Some people were so short they disappeaered, others just fight not to be crushed. Police officers often go in or out, and at least once a week someone said a person in the station has a gun.

Okay, that last part wasn't something normally heard in high schools, but hey, it was Bludhaven. Anything could pass as possible (or seem normal) like the traffic route being blocked because a car repair shop had been blown up, and authorities discovered it was a drug hide out.

She winces as she recalls that incident. Not her finest moment. But in all honesty, people shouting that a person has a gun in the police station is common. For Bludhaven, at least.

Personally, Rickie thought, the result was hilarious, as any officer who heard the 'gun' part dogpiled the unsuspecting person. Rickie reached her office are in the back of the building. She sat down at her desk. It was pretty bare, no irreplaceable personal photos or anything valuable on it that could be stolen.

It was Bludhaven. A person could never be too careful. She grew up fighting Gotham criminals. In her experience, one of the few differences between criminals in Gotham, and criminals in Bludhaven was that Bludhaven's murdering psychopaths didn't dress up to kill people.

The photos on her desk were just printed on normal paper, and were tacked up on a board that was in every BPD office at her precinct. Her desk was wooden, and looked like a school teacher's desk. Rickie eyed the mountain of folders and paper work on her desk distastefully. Being the rookie sucked.

She brought her pencil from where she hid it. Pencils were rare and highly coveted at BPD. If someone found a pencil, they were keeping it. Everybody had a bad habit of losing their own pencil and stealing someone else's. That led to the person stealing another person's pencil. The person they stole from steals a pencil, and so on.

So yes. Pencils were very important. And she was procrastinating . . . Rickie glared at the paper mountain, before hunching over and starting to work.

About four hours later, Archie came in. Rickie stretched and yawned.

"Didn't go as well as you hoped?" She asked, noticing the frown on his face.

Archie looked at her, distracted. "Oh no, it went fine, just . . ." His eyes widened at the paper mountain she had on the floor. Rickie had moved it there so she would have room on her desk to work. "I think that's taller than you! Nobody should get stuck with that much paper work."

Rickie decided to ignore the subject change and rolled her eyes. "I am not that short. And as you should know, being the senior officer hear, this is what happens when you have desk duty. You get everybody's paperwork that _they_ should be doing."

"Still . . ." Archie muttered and shook his head. He had never thought before the paperwork he got on desk duty was that much, but seeing it from someone else's point of view, maybe the guys needed to stop being so lazy.

Rickie just waved her hand. "So what's up? You seemed a little distracted when you came in."

"Remember how the serial killer is killing young adults?" Archie said slowly.

"The Slasher killer who slits their throats, wrist, neck, ankles, back of the knees, Achilles, and stomach? Yeah, I do. Kind of hard to forget, since we were talking about him this morning."

Rain patter against the windows high up on the wall. It was cloudy out, the clouds a gray-ish white, and the blinds were half down on the windows. The room was kind of dark. The silence seemed to stretch on forever as Archie debated on telling her something.

He paused, before saying, "I mentioned to Redhorn that you would like to do something to work with this case, and he said maybe we can use you as bait."

Had she been drinking coffee, or anything else at that moment, Rickie would've done an epic spit take.

"Say what now?" She asked in disbelief. An incredulous expression was on her face.

"That lead I have? It's a suspect. Jane Cooper, a victim who managed to get away, was picked up near the suspect's apartment and gave a description matching his." Archie explained. He pinched his nose.

"And you need hard evidence to prove it's him, since she was drugged at the time." Rickie realized. "What's the problem? And why me?"

"The suspect moved to Gotham shortly after the Jane girl escaped, and laid low. He made his first kill in a while now, and Commissioner Gordon of GCPD contacted us when he recognized the pattern." Archie told her.

Rickie's heart skipped a beat when she heard the last name 'Gordon'. She ignored it.

"So now this is a joint case with GCPD. That explains some of the problem. It doesn't explain why me, though." Rickie frowned, thinking. "Is it because I'm you're partner and you mentioned my name?"

Archie shook his head. "No, I asked him why. He said it's because you're the youngest in the department and you need to gain some experience in an undercover operation. In the end, it's not up to me whether or not you do it."

"Crap," Rickie muttered. "He's having me do it, isn't he? Not that I'm all for desk duty, but what about my wrist?"

Archie grimaced. He knew enough about Rickie to know that she wouldn't like what Redhorn said.

"He said something about it making you look more weak and helpless, plus you're a girl who is like, 5'11 and Johnathan Andrews is a guy who is 6'5, and works out."

Sure enough, Rickie didn't like it. "First off, I am not short. Second off, just because he is taller than me does not mean I can't get away from him. Police training, remember? And just because I have a hurt wrist does not in any way mean I'm weak and-"

"Calm down, calm down, I'm just repeating what he said." Archie waved his hands in surrender. "Besides, you did want to work on the case."

Rickie scowled. "That doesn't mean I wanted to become bait for Slasher."

"Uncle . . . ?" Archie offered up weakly.

Rickie groaned. "Ugh. Fine. But if get hurt and end up on desk duty for even longer, you're splitting the load with me. Got it, _Uncle_?"

"Deal." Archie tried not to smile. He _was_ worried whether or not she'd get hurt, after all.

"Who says you had a choice?" Rickie countered, smirking slightly.

Just like that, she somehow made him less worried. Rickie was tough. She'd be fine. That nagging part of him that had begun to see Rickie as family, maybe a daughter or niece, still worried.

He shook his head. The confidence this girl had was astounding. "We're supposed to go to GPD headquarters and meet with Commissioner Gordon. He agreed to let us meet him there."

"Okay," Rickie nodded, "but I'm not dressing up like some lost schoolgirl."

"I wouldn't dare to hope that, Rookie," Archie rolled his eyes, "You can dress normally."

"Ok," She said cheerfully, grinning. "I'll show up in my cargo pants, and combat boots."

Of course, Archie didn't need to know she actually had combat boots. No cargo pants, though, but if he agreed . . .

"No." Archie said, giving her a withering look. Rickie just rolled her eyes, and her grin widened. Archie struggled to keep a straight face and shook his head to disguise his small smile.

Rickie looked at Archie curiously. "When do we leave?"

"With the three hour drive to Gotham, we're supposed to leave early tomorrow. Bring your coat and your hat, we're spending a Tuesday in Gotham." Archie winced. "Most likely longer."

He knew that Rickie had family in Gotham, and there was some bad blood between them. He also knew who said family was, and Archie never would've guessed that man adopted her.

Rickie sighed. "Three hour car ride, joy. At least it's not paperwork. I'd rather pack an overnight bag for Gotham than do paperwork."

Not entirely true. In Gotham, she might see some old friends. Friends she didn't want nor need to see.

Archie rolled his eyes. "That shows your love of paperwork in plain black and white. C'mon, Rookie, let's get back to work. I have a case to work on, and you have paperwork to do."

Rickie groaned, and her head thudded onto her desk after she shot a look of utter loathing at the paperwork mountain. Archie just laughed. He laughed harder when Rickie flipped him off.

* * *

 **Review.**


	3. Unexpected Meetings

**Arem: Thank you so much for your review. Seriously. Thank you. It helped. I'm honored to be one of your favorite writers, and thanks for giving this story a chance. Thanks for also notifying me of the scary reality that some people receive emails when I post new work. It's kind of amazing, but a little daunting, because there's that part of you that's worried about how the work you put out there will be received.**

 **I recently had a talk with someone who said it's hard to put out a finished product of something, and let others judge it. I have to say, I agree.** **I'm a bit nervous and apprehensive about this story. A) This story means something to me, I've been working on it for a while. It's like my brain child.**

 **B) I feel like this came as a surprise for readers of my other work, so then there's that. Either way, I plan to see this through. I'll see where this takes me.**

 **On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Duh.**

* * *

Patrol had sucked, especially after working on Paper Mountain all day. Which was why Rickie slept peacefully on the couch.

Of course, her sleep was rudely interrupted by a hand shaking her shoulder. She groaned in protest, and swatted it away with her good hand. It had been a hard patrol, and Rickie had collapsed on the couch in her small little kitchen area of the Nest. It consisted of a kitchen, a couch, two armchairs, and most importantly, a coffee maker.

It took her a moment to wonder why someone was in her base. It took another moment to wonder how the hell they knew how to get in. Only the Batman, Knight, Robin, and Red Hood knew how to get in. And they haven't been in the Nest for years. Then she registered the familiar voice of Knight.

That explained some of it. The other voices, she didn't know, and decided she didn't care. But Brent had brought them here, so he must have a reason. Why wake her up, though? She was tired. She hadn't even bothered to take off her mask when she collapsed on the couch. She did put her stupid freakin' wrist brace and delicious hot coco on the coffee table.

Good thing, too, judging by the voices of people she didn't know. She was wearing her favorite dark blue hoodie over a black sports bra, and black sweat pants over her leggings. The leggings and sports bra were what she wore under her suit.

She still wore her combat boots, and her hands were wrapped. She always had them wrapped under her gloves. Sometimes the Kevlar chafed against her hands and knuckles, especially when she was punching someone.

Her hoodie concealed stitches and bandages from where a bullet grazed her side. Stupid Blockbuster had upped his effort to eliminate her, and with the whole exile thing she had going on, her equipment did not advance unless she took the time and effort to do it herself. Which, between her part time job as a bartender at Hogan's, and her full time job as a police officer, she didn't have much of.

She was pretty sure her hair was a mess, her mask is, judging by the feel of it, slightly crooked, and it's pressing annoyingly into her cheek where she has her head against into the pillow. She debated with herself on getting up. Finally, she decided to find out why the hell Brent and his 'friends' were here too early in the morning. Judging by her internal alarm clock, it was five.

She had gotten back form patrol at three, and she had to be up for work at seven. On a Saturday. Why, oh why did she agree to play bait for her and Archie's case, in Gotham of all places? Rickie blamed Chief Redhorn.

Currently, she was warm, comfy, and sleepy on the couch. Even now, she could feel the call of sleep.

She sincerely hoped that whatever Brent needed, it was good, because he was costing her sleep. Plus, she was feeling cranky and irritable right now in general.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' A FEW MINUTES EARLIER ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Brent quickly stepped out of the Zeta tube. The others followed. He traveled along the familiar hallway that led to the base he was familiar with. Her base just kind of snaked everywhere. It used to be a Cold War bunker, but after she found it and converted it into her base, she found if she knocked down a few walls to create more room, tunnels led under the city.

And basically, she could sneak out of the city using them, instead of driving on the street. Brent was pretty sure she was the only one that knew the full layout of her base.

As he stepped in, he reminded himself he was only there for her computer. Wow. When he thought it in his head like that, it sounded rather odd. With that, Brent sped up down the hall way, entering the main area. And the person he hoped wasn't in it. He needed her help, or rather her equipment.

He hoped she wasn't there, he didn't want to face her for some reason. And he was still . . . hurt, not necessary angry at what happened with the invasion. . . . Fine, maybe he was a little angry. He knew her for years, trusted her, but she couldn't trust him with something like that?

Dam that woman. Why did she have to be so confusing?

He had no clue if he could use her equipment without her, but if it meant avoiding a confrontation with her, he'd try. Brent's hopes of her not being in her base plummeted at the fact that the lights were on. Her base was huge, Brent mused, and it looked like a giant hanger.

Lights illuminated a road way down a tunnel, and he could see her motorcycle there. Ah crap. That meant she was definitely here. The others followed him curiously. He could feel their unasked questions about where they were.

Her equipment was on a medic table. Alfred would have a fit if he saw it all piled up there. Next to it, there was a closed and neatly pack first aid kit. A flash of worry wormed itself into Brent's emotions. He pushed it away.

He knew that if Rickie were still in here, then she would probably be in the kitchen area. Brent panicked slightly when he saw that she wasn't there, but then he saw the head of black hair on the couch's armrest. And the hot coco on the coffee table, along with a black object he couldn't be bothered to identify.

Rickie's head was facing the couch, and she was on her side. She lay curled, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her mouth was slightly agape, and her mask was still on, concealing her blue eyes. It was slightly askew. It was kind of adorable. Rickie's hair was in a messy ponytail and a lock of her hair was on her forehead.

He fought with the strange urge to brush it off.

Her hands were wrapped in bandages. She wore her favorite blue sweatshirt (the one she always wore after patrols), and sweatpants. Brent couldn't get over the way she looked.

Rickie's face was peaceful and relaxed, completely unguarded. She looked so young. It made her seem like a different person. Then again, it has been three years since . . . Everything.

"Who is the hot chick?" Grant (insert last name that Brent didn't know) A.K.A. Ravager asked, smirking and eyeing Rickie.

Brent felt a surge of annoyance. At the moment, he was Knight, formally Batlad. His uniform looked similar to Batman's, except instead of a cowl he had a domino mask without the lenses . . . And fine, maybe the black part was a little thin line around his eyes.

But it was still a mask. Plus, his costume had a lot of black on the legs, and spreading up to the chest where the gray came in to cover his chest. On his chest was the famous Bat symbol.

Ravager had on a tight dark grey t-shirt and two straps crossed on his chest. He wore black cargo pants with black combat boots. Strapped to his back was a rifle, and he had a utility belt that had all sorts of nasty toys. Grant had corn silk blond hair and icy blue eyes, and he was decent looking, Brent supposed.

He wouldn't know. He didn't swing that way.

The other two, Chris Carnes A.K.A Knightfall and Cat Flores A.K.A Tarantula eyed Rickie curiously. Brent felt another surge of annoyance as he explained to them who she was.

"I think I heard my father mention something about a Nightwing once." Grant said thoughtfully. That was right, his father was Deathstroke. And Grant was also an enemy . . . But enemies can become allies and vice versa in certain situations.

"I have not heard of her." Chris mused.

"Neither have I." Cat was eyeing Rickie in a way that sent a shiver down Brent's spine.

Cat was dressed in his Tarantula outfit. A dark black body suit with dark grey boots and gloves. He had a black domino mask and the eyeholes were a dark grey. Cat had dark brown eyes and black hair. He Hispanic, sort of, which always made Brent think Cat was short for some Spanish name or something.

Chris was wearing a black body suit with a dark blue cape and hood pulled over his head. On his chest was a white upside down 'T' that circled his waist showing his dark grey utility belt. He had black combat boots with metal soles and metal tips that looked wicked. Chris had dirty blond hair and light grey eyes, but they were hidden by his hood and purple domino mask.

Chris Carnes sort of hated Brent. The feeling was about mutual, but they needed his help.

"Well, there she is." Knight said.

The others went silent as they yet again looked at Nightwing.

"Why are we here?" Grant questioned. "Not that I'm complaining about meeting a hot and apparently kickass chick." Muttering grumpily, he added, "Why do all the good ones have to be heroes?"

That last question was to himself, but the others heard it as well. Their faces showed agreement, and they muttered something about girls with deadly kisses or psychotic tendencies. Meh. Clearly they had not met Wendy, Raquel, Dinah, or Diana in one of their . . . Brent shuddered - moods.

Or even Rickie in one of her moods. Brent had never known that wooden spoons could look so menacing until _that_ day.

"We need her help." Brent answered. He didn't answer Grant's other question, getting that strange annoyed feeling again.

"How old is she?" Chris asked dubiously.

Brent was about to open his mouth, wondering why Chris had asked that, when he looked at Rickie, studying her.

Rickie _did_ look very young. She looked like she might be eighteen or nineteen, but Brent supposed that was what happened when he slept, too. He looked younger than he was because when he was awake his experiences made him seem older. Or so he was told. They certainly made him feel older.

"She's a few months younger than me," Brent finally said.

He had trouble thinking of Rickie as a twenty-two year old, but that was the reality. His mind kept flashing back to the last time he saw her, as a nineteen year old girl walking away – being kicked away, really, by them – away from the League, and the Team. A flash of guilt wormed it's way through him, and he quickly squashed it.

Chris raised an eyebrow. The others eyed Rickie curiously. Brent scowled at them. He reached out his hand and shook Rickie's shoulder. She groaned and swatted it away. He heard the others snicker. Grant, Chris, and Cat couldn't believe this girl was a hero. She looked so - breakable.

"I can wake her up," Cat offered. A glint was in his eyes that Brent didn't like.

"I can do it," Brent snapped.

He turned back, but before he could Rickie turned, and sat up.

She yawned, "Why are you here, Knight?"

Brent froze.

Her voice. Crap, he hasn't heard it for around three years. And there was no anger or accusation in her voice. Not even hurt from leaving her for three years. He wasn't sure what to expect, but this reaction from her definitely wasn't it. He froze. Her tone was uncaring.

No happiness at seeing him, no anger, no annoyance, nothing. It was like she didn't care and he was just a problem she had to deal with. For some reason Brent couldn't put his finger on, it . . . bothered him.

"Apparently, according to Knight over there, we need your help." Chris said drily.

Rickie's head turned to him. She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. In her sweatshirt and sweatpants, with her mask slightly askew and her hair sticking up, she looked adorable. The fact that she was wearing her combat boots still didn't help.

Her costume was almost half on half off, replaced by sweatpants and a sweatshirt. The ones she usually wore on patrol. He knew better than to tell her she looked adorable. He wouldn't make that mistake again.

He was willing to bet she was wearing her black tank top and leggings under her current clothes. He knew that's what she always wore under her suit, she had trained in it a few times and had walked with half her costume on sometimes. Plus, he was curious and once asked her what she wore under her costume.

Brent just wore his underwear, but for girls he assumed it was more . . . complicated. When he told Rickie that was why he asked that, she punched him.

Hard. In the face.

It had not been fun explaining to Bruce why he had a broken nose. Not to mention the other heroines kicking his butt when Robin told them why Batlad's nose was broken. And then there was the fake excuse he had to give his Dad about why Rickie of all people broke his nose . . .

Needless to say, those had been the worst three weeks of his life.

"And you guys are?" She asked Chris.

"Knightfall," He responded.

"Ravager," Grant added.

Something unidentifiable flashed across Rickie's face. It was gone before Brent could recognize it. The others didn't notice.

"Tarantula," Cat pointed at himself.

"Now that that's out of the way, why the hell are you here?" Rickie demanded, turning to Brent.

He winced.

"Why don't you ask him for his name?" Cat asked curiously.

"I know him." "She knows me."

Chris frowned thoughtfully, while Grant and Cat looked surprised. Rickie and Brent scowled at each other. She shook her head, and he was admittedly happy he could get a reaction out of her.

He told Rickie, "To answer your question, we need information."

"And what's wrong with the other computers . . . ?" Rickie questioned.

Brent impatiently explained the situation. Some random psychopath released a virus that disabled League and Team computers, and through them the Bat-Computer, which meant they had to go the old fashion way searching for the bad guy.

Brent had the idea to use her computer, remembering it was disconnected when Cyborg found out that the undamaged parts of the Team computer had code he wasn't familiar with, and Brent recognized it as hers.

With a slightly awkward grin, Brent nervously rubbed the back of his head, and explained that he knew no one would allow him to go over here and use her computer. When she pointed out that they've probably forgotten her, since she was been so long in 'exile' shunned by everyone, Knight just said he didn't want to take a risk with the only chance he had.

Lame excuse. It was most definitely a lie. He knew that. Problem was, he didn't know why he was telling that lie. Or who he was telling the lie to.

The others looked a little too curious at that information. Knight quickly started to explain again.

Sniper, Tarantula, and Knightfall caught him sneaking out. They were, in Brent's words, 'baddies' (Rickie gave him a look for bringing them there), but they had a bone to pick with the psychopath who released the virus. Oh, and said homicidal maniac also planted bombs everywhere.

Until they got the computers back to full capacity, which meant the only ones in present company who knew the design of the special bombs the maniac Flame-O (Rickie nearly burst into giggles at the name) created. When Rickie asked why, Brent sighed impatiently, and launched into another round of explanations.

Tarantula sold the parts in an undercover sting gone wrong (apparently his form of justice and the means he went about administering it made him a criminal), and Chris knew what cities the bombs were in: Metropolis, Gotham, New York, Washington D.C., and Central City. Grant knew how to disarm the bombs, recognizing what type they were. The mercenary had a few run-ins with them.

So yes, despite the heroes' desire to not work with three criminals, circumstances demanded that it must be done. Thankfully, she didn't need much more persuading. Just an explanation. For him, that was lucky. He sucked at the whole 'persuasive' thing.

Rickie got up and moved to sit at her computer, privately thinking that if the others at the insistence of Lagoon Boy, who had threatened to quit if she didn't tear down her code and let anyone else put new ones in, had let her keep her firewall up (along with other cyber protections), then this wouldn't have happened.

She was lucky she managed to keep her codes up around the most important files. Personally, she considered what she did to keep those codes in place nothing short of magic. They were her best codes, and she'll be damned if she was going to tear them down.

Rickie had just programmed them to blend in with the new codes the other person (whoever that was) would add. She hadn't even known that was possible until she did it. Reaching her chair, she sat down, sighing. The sigh turned into a yawn, and she rubbed at her eyes.

"It's way too early to be doing this," Rickie muttered.

Rickie pressed a few buttons, did some computer techy things, and got into her computer. She then moved over on her seat, and gestured to Brent.

Brent looked at her like, _what?_

And she gave him a look that said, _I'm not getting up. Do what you need to do to find a_ _ll the firebomb thingies._

So Brent huffed a little and sat in the chair, Rickie sitting next to him. The guys looked at him like they couldn't believe that just happened. Brent tried to ignore the blush creeping on his face at how close Rickie was. It shouldn't matter, they used to hug and goof around all the time as kids.

But they had been kids. And maybe they did sort of date for a few months.

It didn't help matters that Rickie just had start falling asleep again, so her solution was to lean against him and rest her head on his shoulder. Brent looked at her blankly, mentally asking, _why?_

She mumbled a sleepy response to Brent's unasked question, "Shuddap. You're the one who woke me up at five in the freakin' morning. I have a right to use you as a pillow."

Brent ultimately decided it was pointless to argue against that. Whenever he tried to argue against her, she argued back. He used logic; she made up her own logic to win. The others raised their eyebrows. Brent glared at them.

"This might take some time. I'd sit on the chairs, or something, and rest up," Brent says.

"So you can have more time with your girlfriend?" Chris smirks. "Of course."

Brent sent a dark glare at Chris. "She. Is. Not. My. Girlfriend."

Chris's expression conveyed that he obviously didn't believe Brent. "So you're telling me you have no romantic feelings for her at all? That you wouldn't be the tiniest bit annoyed if, say . . ." Chris glanced at the other guys. "Tarantula were to kiss her?"

Cat smirked, and an emotion flashed across his face before Brent could identify it. Grant snickered.

Brent choked on air. "Wha - ? Of course I'd be annoyed, because she wouldn't want you kissing her, so I'd be annoyed because I'm her friend."

Grant paused his snickering. "Oh, so you know her well-enough to know her likes and dislikes?"

That -

Brent scowled. "I've known her for years. Now go rest up."

Grant and Chris raised their hands in an 'I surrender' gesture, walking away. Cat started to follow, stealing the armchair to the left of the couch where Rickie had been sleeping, while Chris took the right armchair.

Grant, more used to sleep on harder surfaces, and really just not wanting to sleep on anything soft (the beds at the Little League's base had made him soft - it was uncomfortable for him) took a spot under the coffee table, stretching out and using his arms as a pillow.

Grant ignored the weird looks he got from . . . well, everyone except Rickie, who was sitting next to Brent and out like a light. He was out within minutes of laying on the floor, just as Cat and Chris were out within minutes of sitting in the armchairs.

Brent just rolled his eyes as he looked at them. Seriously, why did _they_ have to catch them sneaking off? Chris was his 'Joker' of sorts, even if they had called a temporary truce. Chris wanted to annihilate Brent, could often be cold and cruel, but there was a trace of good in him.

Brent had seen it, and he wasn't going to give up on Chris . . . no matter how many times Knightfall tried to kill him. Sometimes, Brent wanted to kill him to. The guy just had to chose a villain name (Knightfall) so similar the Brent's hero name (Knight).

Grant, or Ravager was another story. One Brent didn't know much about. Grant was the son of the mercenary Deathstroke, and like Deathstroke, he was a mercenary. That was about the extent of Brent his knowledge about him.

Tarantula . . . Cat was relatively new to the super criminal/hero world, and Brent knew very little about Cat besides his codename, Tarantula, what was likely not his last name, Flores, and . . . nothing really beyond that. Apparently he had adopted the name after meeting the original Tarantula and training under him.

A fight of some sort happened between the two. A falling out. Cat kind of lived all over the place, but the original Tarantula, last Brent heard, was in Bludhaven, which was why a part of him was surprised Cat hadn't at least heard the name Nightwing. Maybe the two had met outside of Bludhaven. It wasn't his business.

All in all, Brent though sarcastically to himself, he had chosen what was quite possibly the worst improvised group of 'heroes' ever assembled.

As he looked at Rickie, now snoring peacefully on his shoulder, drooling slightly (somehow managing to st), he thought that maybe not all of them were bad. Some of them were good, too. In their own ways.

No matter how frustratingly annoying a certain black haired, blue eyed masked vigilante could be.

An hour and a half later, Brent's eyes were hurting from staring at the screen for so long. Rickie was still sitting next to him, but he had gotten used to her presence, and her warm body next to his made him relax, drool or not. Her head was a comfortable weight on his shoulder, and it made him sleepy. He yawned, resisting the urge to give in to sleep.

Sighing, Brent unplugged the flash drive he had plugged into the computer. He had just finished locating and downloading all of the required info needed to find the frickin' Flame guy, and his stupid firebombs littered across cities. At least Flame had been kind enough to not put them in more cities.

It was the small miracles that made Brent's day, like stupid thugs accidently knocking their fellow thug out.

He stood up stretching, momentarily forgetting about Rickie in his exhaustion. She mumbled something incoherent as she curled up where was sitting a moment ago, and Brent jumped. He looked at her. He couldn't leave Rickie in the chair. Debating with himself for a moment, Brent heaved a huge sigh.

Oh, she so owed him.

He looped his left arm under her legs, and used his right arm to support her back. Rickie's head rested on his shoulder as Brent carried her bridal style. She stirred, and her eyelids fluttered, but she didn't wake up. He tried to ignore the flutter of butterflies in his stomach, hyperaware that he was holding her in his arms.

Brent frowned at how light she was, and how she didn't wake up. Rickie was normally a light sleeper, who would wake up when you so much as brushed her hand (Bruce was somehow an exception to that rule, like she could sense it was him).

For her to not wake up, she must be really tired. Brent winced as he realized how many years now she would've been patrolling alone as Nightwing.

Brushing those thoughts off, he walked over to the couch, and tried to put Rickie back where she was in the beginning, avoiding waking up Calvin, Grant, or Chris. Rickie had other ideas. As he let her go, her hands shot out and clutched his cape tightly.

Brent wobbled for a minute , caught off guard. But he steady himself, instinctively putting his arms out to hold Rickie. Looking down at Rickie, he frowned as he saw she was still asleep. Trying to set her down again got the same result. Throwing his head back in an exasperated motion, he sat on the couch, then laid down on his side.

Rickie's sleeping form happily stretched out beside him, curling in slightly closer to him. Brent tried to ignore the burning blush on his face. They had always hung out together when they were younger, and fallen asleep next to each other on the couch. But . . . they had been _younger._ There was that time they had dated when they were around nineteen, but he tried not to let his thoughts stray to those times.

Pretending it was the Mount Justice couch after a long movie night, and not him being really tired after being on her computer and seeing her for the first time in . . . what, three years? Rickie's warmth beside him lulled him into a relaxed state. It helped that he was tired. And his eyes hurt.

Brent closed his eyes, and fell into the murky blackness of sleep.

* * *

 _"CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON, THERE'LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DONE, LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD TO REST, DON'T YOU CRY NO MORE!"_

Rickie was startled awake by her oh-so-helpful alarm clock. Squirming for a minute, she struggled out of someone's grip, and was hit by cold air . . . right after she fell off the couch. On her butt.

Well. That hurt.

She blinked rapidly, struggling to look around and organize out her thoughts through the fog of sleep. It took her a moment to realize she was sitting on the floor crab walk style, she was in the Nest, there was some guy - was that Knight? - on her couch, and - she peered under her coffee table, able to see it from the floor - Why the heck was a random dude under her coffee table?

 _(If anyone were to look at the completely, utterly confused, hopelessly lost, and very startled expression on Rickie's face, they would've burst out laughing on the spot, then snapped a picture)_

What did she have to drink last night?!

She started to panic slightly.

Then her memory of last night came back. Huh. Who knew that would happen? So, (she did a mental recap) the guy under her coffee table was Ravager, the guy on her couch was Brent (why was she sleeping next to him? Just, why? How?!), and the guy behind her was Knightfall, and the guy on her other armchair was Tarantula.

Ugh. She hated spiders.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT NOISE!?" An unnecessarily loud voice cleared away any remaining fog in her brain from sleep.

Right. Her alarm was still going off.

Standing up, she stumbled forward almost face-planting into the ground. Rickie had a feeling that if she could see herself she would look drunk. The fact that she was still in the clothes she was in last night probably didn't help. Her black hair was even messier, but it was somehow still in its pony tail.

Her mask was even more crooked, but thankfully still on, and her wrist brace remained on the table with her cup of hot coco from last night, which was now stone cold. Scrambling to her computer, she pushed a random button, shutting her alarm off. Stretching, she turned around, and saw the disgruntled faces of Ravager, Tarantula, Knight, and Knightfall.

"Er," She smiled sheepishly. "Good morning?"

Brent just shook his head. "Why do you have an alarm set for seven in the morning on a Tuesday?"

She shrugged. "Some of us have to work for a living. And by that," She gave a pointed look at Grant. "I mean an actual job, one that does not involve killing people for hire. Or robbing people."

Grant rolled his eyes. "You wound me." His tone was amused. "I have a better question, why were you two sleeping together?"

It took a minute for what he was implying to register in her mind. When it did, a nearly unnoticeable horrified look flashed across her face, before she averted her eyes from Grant. The mercenary could've sworn she had a nearly imperceptible blush on her face.

"Shuddap." Rickie mumbled. "It's not like you've never slept with a girl." Seeing his expression, she quickly added, "Without doing . . . _that_."

He frowned when his chance at the perfect retort was taken away.

Sensing an opportunity to escape, Rickie took it. She back up toward the stairs, saying, "So look, I gotta go, I'm sure you can find your own breakfast. I usually have bagels or cereal in the cabinets somewhere . . ."

"Our host is not going to provide us with breakfast?" Chris questioned, a smirk on his face.

She scowled, and to his surprise stuck her tongue out at him. "Unwilling host, it doesn't take a genius to figure out I wasn't expecting you to show up. Now, I have to go get ready for work. Bye, and may the Zeta beam not leave any of you behind."

With that said, Rickie quickly darted up the stairs into the alley where she could climb her fire escape that led to her apartment across from this building, and prepare for her trip to Gotham. She seriously needed to hurry. Archie would be pissed if she was running late, and they ended up being late because of her. But of course, the guys didn't know that.

Grant eyed Brent. "What do you have to say about my question?"

Brent tossed him a glance, as he headed to the coffee maker. Cat stretched, and followed, along with Chris and Grant.

"We used to sleep together a lot when we were younger," Brent answered.

Then he realized what he said, but it was too late to take it back. The damage was done.

"Oh?" Grant asked. "You slept together when you were younger? How was it? Was she your first time?"

To Grant's delight, Brent turned a brilliant shade of red.

"That's not - You know what I meant - GAH!" Brent fumbled for a comeback, before giving up. Disgruntled, he said, "Let's just get this info back to the Cave. The bombs' are gonna go off at midnight today."

Grant smirked victoriously. He sipped his coffee, after pouring it out of the pot.

Chris seemed to pause as he took in something. "You know, a week ago we would've all been attempting to kill each other. Now hear we are having a pot of coffee, and chatting like old buddies."

Grant just snorted. "Don't worry, Twilight." Chris' nostrils flared, "We'll be back to killing each other by next Saturday. In fact, I look forward to that. People to kill, promises to fulfill, contracts to take, and money to make. That's my motto."

Brent focused his attention on Cat, who got a curious expression on his face at the mention of all of them going back to killing each other. He raised an eyebrow at the other man.

Chris just shook his head. "No wonder you're a mercenary."

Grant glared fiercely at Chris. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Seeing Chris open his mouth for a retort, Brent stepped in. "Let's just go back now to the Cave, how about that? We can have some more coffee, and breakfast there."

After a tense moment where it seemed like Grant and Chris would start fighting each other, they broke eye contact and together, they looked at Brent. He relaxed when they looked away.

Each of them glared at the floor, as they turned their heads to Brent, and snapped, "Fine."

Cat gave a low, mocking whistle, muttering how someone woke up on the wrong end of the armchair, but he only got twin glares. Shrugging, Cat set his mug down, and raised his hands up in an 'I surrender' gesture.

Grant gave him a warning look. Chris rolled his eyes. Both set their mugs down and stalked over to the hallway that led to the Zeta tube. _Drama queens, much?_ Brent thought to himself. He managed to conceal his amused expression as he watched them stalk over.

Cat started to go after them, but Brent stopped him.

"Hey," Brent said, "I noticed it bothered you when Grant said we'd all go back to killing each other by next Saturday. Something you wanna say?"

"Well," Cat huffed. "Any normal person would be bothered by a person you're hanging out with casually talking about killing you, but . . . It's just the way life is. Friends kill friends when you're considered a criminal by law."

"It doesn't have to be that way," Brent reassured Cat. Hesitantly, Brent pointed out, "Heroes don't really stab each other in the back."

Even as he said it, Brent thought about Rickie, and her plan with the invasion.

"Duh," Cat rolled his eyes. "You're all a bunch of goodie-goodies," Brent would beg to differ, "Who wouldn't dare think of killing each other."

Clearly, Cat had not yet met Red Hood, the former Robin. Oh, and he hadn't met Arsenal either. Arsenal probably didn't swing by the Cave, Brent mused, just called in on a communicator to ask about the bombs. And Red Hood probably just asked the little Demon. For some odd reason, those two got along now.

Brent was just waiting for the day when they announced their plan to take over the world. He was seriously considering creating a bunker for when that inevitable day happens.

"But," Cat broke Brent's planning, "It's not like I could be . . ." Calvin looked around nervously, as if Grant and Chris would pop out of nowhere.

For a criminal, especially a villain, you don't become a hero. It's an insult to everyone you ever worked with, whether in partnerships, rivalries, or if they were your mentor. Jade, Apollo's older sister, had a hell of a time breaking away from the League of Shadows, and she's still involved in some ways.

"A hero." Cat finished quietly.

He looked a little angry with himself. The poor guy seemed like someone who was used to being confident.

Just as quietly, "You're still pretty new, for a villain. Besides, you don't count. You've done some good things, Tarantula." Pausing, Brent asked, "Would you want to be a hero?"

Cat appeared to think about it in the silence that follows. The nod of confirmation makes Brent want to cheer. One less annoyance to deal with on the hero community's plate. Three cheers for him.

"C'mon," Brent jerked his head toward the Zeta tube. "After this whole fire bomb thing clears up, we'll see what happens."

Knight and Tarantula walked towards the Zeta tubes.

* * *

 **Heavy editing on this chapter, wrote it about two or so years ago. I started writing drabbles of this Fem!Nightwing story after reading a really great Fem!Nightwing story called You'll Find Me Just As Broken. It's amazing, though sadly the author has decided not to continue. **

**Because this story was inspired so much by damnation soldier's story, I asked her permission before posting it. This story was also inspired by - or at least the Dibs pairing part of it - by some Fem!Nightwing and Batlad artwork by avataarandy formerly redlacedbird.**

 **Review.**


	4. Delightful Days at Work

**Well, here's the update. Thank you for the reviews and favorites, they're great.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

The drive to Gotham was long. About three hours. Rickie kept her head leaned against the passenger window of Archie's car. She had fallen asleep about midway through the drive, and was just waking up now. Unfortunately, her sleep had been interrupted last night by some surprise visitors.

"Morning, sunshine," Archie joked, giving her a half smile. He kept his eyes still on the road.

Rickie rolled her eyes. She glanced back at the back seat, where there were two small BPD duffel bags. Each contained their police uniform just in case. Archie and Rickie had agreed to wear normal clothes to the Gotham Police Precinct (where they would meet up with the Commissioner). They suspected they wouldn't need their uniforms.

However, Redhorn hadn't been happy when he found this out, so he made them clip their badges onto their clothes. Rickie clipped hers onto the waistband of her blue skinny jeans. She covered it with the light blue dress shirt she was wearing, knowing that cop badges weren't exactly welcome sights around Gotham.

Or Bludhaven, but around there she could count on familiarity. She knew Bludhaven. She used to know Gotham, but now she didn't. Since it was fall, she wore her old black, North Face jacket with the fur lining. Her black hair, pulled back in a ponytail, was covered in a gray winter hat, and her hair curled around her shoulders.

Archie had also clipped his badge to the waistband of his jeans. Luckily, Rickie ended up with a partner in the BPD who had some common sense. It was covered by the green plaid shirt and the heavy brown jacket he wore. Archie's short, neat brown hair was a little messy, and she had a feeling that one of his kids was responsible.

Rickie leaned her head against the window. They were crossing the bridge, exiting the Highway to Hell and entering the Bridge to Hell, as the officers would joke. She looked at the foreboding, looming skyscrapers of Gotham.

Her eyes found the distant, block letters of WAYNE on Wayne Tower.

She took a deep breath and shifted, feeling the aching pain in her ribs from where a crook had gotten a lucky hit in with a crowbar last night. Last night was kind of a blur for her. She still wasn't sure whether or not she had dreamed the visit from Brent and his merry band of baddies Sniper, Knightfall, and Tarantula.

Rickie stretched. She yawned, careful not to take too deep of a breath.

"Are we there yet?"

Archie sighed. "No. Go back to sleep."

Rickie her tongue out at him.

When Archie finally parallel parked the car by the precinct, Rickie paused as Archie unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out, quickly walking around to the sidewalk. Ignoring her nerves, she unbuckled her own seat belt and stepped out, making sure to pull the gray hat she wore further down on her head.

The two hurried down the street, the wind nipping at her nose. Rickie shivered at the cold, and she kept her head down against the wind. She glared slightly at the ground when she glanced at her side and saw Archie completely unaffected by the cold. She swore he was part polar bear.

She led Archie to the precinct, and he didn't question it, knowing her past with Gotham. It felt like forever, but it was barely five minutes later before they arrived in the precinct house. Rickie sighed with relief, grateful for the shelter from the wind and the cold.

She kept her head down. Rickie knew if she looked up, someone might recognize her. It was a slim chance, but she had come here many times with Brent when she was younger. Plus, annoyingly enough, she had been told her blue eyes were quite distinctive.

They were just blue eyes. She wasn't quite sure how they were distinctive. The cops around them stopped, paying great attention to them when they flashed their badges and Archie said something about being from BPD.

She easily navigated the maze of desks, purposely avoiding the desks of officers most likely to know her and walking up the steps to the higher platform of desks. Archie easily kept up as she navigated these desks, making it to one of the two stair cases on the side.

Rickie had always liked how these stair cases were to the side instead of facing the front. She remembered one of the cops telling her and Brent it had been for space purposes when the building had been renovated shortly before Brent's father, Jim Gordon, came.

Everything in the precinct was dark, like most things in Gotham. The staircases themselves were made of dark, polished wood. She grasped the railing of one as she headed up it, Archie on her heels. When they got to the top level, she walked to the last office on the row of them in front of the staircase.

Commissioner Gordon had told them to meet him there. Except when they got to the office door, it was closed and locked.

"Hey! You two the Bludhaven cops?"

Archie and Rickie turned to come face to face with Detective Montoya. Rickie froze and panic flashed across her face. Archie must have seen it, because he decided to come to her rescue.

"Yes," He said immediately, "You have information for us, I'd wager?"

Montoya gave a dry smile, "I don't know if wagering your money is something you'd want to do in this city, but yeah, I do. Jim had to go to a last minute lunch with the mayor and some rich folks. Some thanks for the donations thing and whatnot. Said to meet him there."

Archie nodded. "Thank you. Where is this lunch being held?"

Montoya blinked, startled at the question. She had been staring intently at Rickie, while Rickie had been staring intently at her shoes.

"Oh, uh," She fumbled for a second for words, before saying, "It's being hosted at Wayne Tower in Wayne's office. Apparently, he agreed to host it last minute."

Internally, Rickie cursed her bad luck. At least it wasn't at Wayne Manor. Then again, Wayne Tower wasn't much better.

"Thank you," Archie said politely to Montoya.

The two started to walk away, and Rickie almost released the tension in her shoulders.

Then, "Oh, and Grayson, nice to finally see your ass again! Thanks for giving a heads up about your arrival!"

Rickie turned around and shot the grinning Montoya a glare. Meanwhile quite a few cops looked up at her in surprise. Clearly, they remembered her. She suppressed a groan. At least this day was going better than she thought it would. The pair walked out the precinct and back to the car.

Rickie shivered once more in the cold and curses flew through her mind. She got into the car and slammed the door closed.

"Dam Montoya," She muttered.

Archie suppressed a smile, but a small chuckled slipped through.

"I take it you know her?" He asked. His eyes danced with mirth.

She shot him a look.

"You know full well that I know her."

"Yeah, yeah," Archie said, "Let's go. You're the navigator, former Gothamite."

She glared at him once more, but started to give directions to Wayne Tower. Archie easily navigated the nutty Gotham streets, not even honking his horn once or twice. He was that driver, the one who always kept their temper under control.

Rickie was tempted to honk the car horn herself a few times, but she refrained from reaching over and doing so. Instead, she settled for sticking up her middle finger and yelling curse words. Archie frequently chuckled quietly at this, and she frequently ignored him as she kept doing it.

She needed to vent her anger that lingered from Montoya calling her out. If that meant yelling at random drivers, so be it.

They pulled up to the gate of the parking garage.

"Badge please?" The guard asked.

Of course, Rickie knew he meant the badges all Wayne employees had, but Archie showed him his cop badge. He tried to explain they were here to see Commissioner Gordon and how they were from the BPD.

"No clearance, no entrance. Please exit the premises," The guard asked them, not even sparing them a glance as he clicked something on a computer.

Rickie raised her eyebrows as she realized he was playing Galaga. Her eyebrows rose further as she realized she recognized this guard.

"Joe?" She asked.

The guard looked over. Recognition flashed in his eyes.

"Rickie?" He asked her.

Archie sat between them clearly confused, but he stayed silent.

She sighed, "Yeah, it's me. We really do need to see Jim; can you let us in? Please, as a favor for me?"

Joe smiled, chuckling, "Sure, little Rickie."

He let them pass.

"Little Rickie?" Archie raised an eyebrow as he looked at her.

She blushed as she heard the old nickname the security staff had for her. She had never been that short . . . She still was not short. Or at least, that's what she kept telling herself.

"Shut up. Let's just go in."

The pair managed to park the car in the parking garage, and used the elevator to reach the upper layers of Wayne Tower.

Rickie immediately started walking once the elevators opened, revealing the huge lobby.

Her eyes automatically found the reception desk, and flitted to the right side showing the multiple glass doors. There were metal decors right by the doors on either side. Rickie knew the location of every security camera. She knew this building like the back of her hand.

Shaking her head to shake the memories filtering through her mind, Rickie made her way to the elevator. Clearly, Joe had warned the receptionists and the other security staff about them, because the withered old receptionist Mrs. Fitch didn't bat an eye at their arrival.

Then again, nothing ever seemed to phase Mrs. Fitch.

Rickie led Archie over to the other elevators that directly faced the doors. They quickly got into one, and Rickie pressed the button for the top floor. Archie and her stood in silence as the awful elevator music played.

She winced at the music. Gosh, she hated it so much.

After learning about the emergency meeting, she realized it was probably a lunch taking place in Bruce's office last minute. Award or not, the mayor was probably trying to bargain for a donation to the police department.

She fidgeted with the sleeves of her jacket nervously. A knot of fear was in her stomach. She exhaled.

The door opened, and she went down the hallway. Archie followed, a silent, reassuring presence by her side.

"Do you wanna wait in the hall?" Archie asked her.

Rickie thought about it. She nodded.

"Yeah," She muttered to herself, "He doesn't exactly know about this."

Her fingers rubbed her badge almost unconsciously. Archie didn't even have to ask who 'he' was, but it took him a moment to realize what 'this' was.

"He doesn't . . ." Archie couldn't say more.

Rickie said nothing.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I don't understand, but . . . Okay."

* * *

To be honest, Jim was rather uncomfortable in this meeting, and it was clear that Bruce was too, despite agreeing to host it. The Mayor kept blabbing on about something, and a few members of city council were around the table the four were eating lunch at.

He felt a little underdressed in his usual long, brown coat, jeans, boots, dress shirt. The others wore some expensive suits.

"Commissioner Gordon?"

All eyes turned to him, before turning to look at the strange, middle aged man that just walked in. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, hands in the pocket of his jeans. The man had brown hair and brown eyes. Something about him made Jim want to like him.

With his plaid green shirt and brown jacket, something about him made Jim believe was a good man. It was the way he held himself.

"Yes?" Commissioner Gordon.

"Hello," He introduced himself, "I'm Officer Archie Roarbach. I'm here with my partner."

Jim froze, before the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, it slipped my mind I was meeting with two officers of the BPD today. I assume this is you and . . .?"

Archie nodded. "My partner is waiting."

Jim felt a headache coming on. He really didn't need this now. This . . . this was embarrassing. He looked at Bruce, the Mayor, and the city council members. They were watching, but not really in surprise. They knew there was a chance police business would come up, especially the police commissioner of Gotham.

He looked at his audience apologetically. "I'm sorry."

Bruce smiled widely, and reassuringly. "We understand. Go, Commissioner Gordon."

The others nodded, muttering words along similar lines. Jim relaxed. He could finally get out of this with a viable excuse. Trying not to look too happy about going to chase a serial killer from Bludhaven, Jim nodded, and walked out the door, slinging his coat on.

Archie stopped in the hallway once he closed the door. Mostly because Jim had stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing Rickie.

"Rickie," Jim said simply. He blinked back a few tears, trying to remember this was the girl who broke his boy's heart.

At the same time, though, he saw the little girl he had known who had turned into a young woman without him these past few years he hadn't been a part of her life. He saw the little girl he had comforted and talked to after she had seen her family die.

Except that little girl, that little girl with open, trusting eyes was now a young woman looking at him warily. And nervously. He saw it in her eyes, in the way she twisted her sleeves with her hands, shifted from foot to foot, and bit her lip ever so slightly.

He saw a hint of hope in her eyes, guarded by fear.

On an impulse, Jim stepped forward and embraced her. He couldn't find the words to ask how she had been, how was she a police officer, and so on. He pulled away and took a moment to look at her. She looked so much older. Brent would be amazed.

Brent.

That boy had some explaining to do. Jim realized that as soon as he saw the dampness in her eyes after they pulled away. Rickie Grayson, one of the strongest he knew, was trying not to cry. Jim could feel his old heart break ever so slightly, and guilt flooded him.

He should have tried to contact her. He shouldn't have sided with his son; he should have talked with them both. Jim should have done something. He saw this happening a while ago; he knew Brent and Rickie would fall for each other. Jim had known if they ever split their friendship would break.

He just hadn't realized how much it would break Brent. He had been a fool to assume Rickie wouldn't be affected. With how long he had known this girl, she was practically his daughter. He owed it to her to hear her out. Brent definitely had some explaining to do.

Rickie broke the silence. "So, look, about the whole officer thing . . ."

"C'mon," Jim said. He smiled at Rickie, "I believe you two have a killer to catch. Preferably today, as we have enough killers in this city, and it would save you the trouble of finding a decent hotel here."

Archie stepped forward from where he had been hanging in the background.

"He's right," Archie said, "Let's go back to the station."

* * *

"So what's the plan?" Rickie leaned against the wall of Jim's office.

It was almost exactly the same. Some of the framed photos on the shelves were not the same, and the desk was piled with different case files. But the bookshelf, desk, and two armchairs were arranged the same.

Rickie struggled not to think of all the times she hung out here with Brent after school while his father worked.

Currently, the three of them where staring at the open file on Jim's desk. His other files had been carefully move on the floor and armchairs near the desk. The open file was about Slasher, and it contained everything the GCPD had gathered about him.

Jim and Archie frowned.

Rickie gave them a look. "Guys. I'm a big girl. What's the plan?"

Jim shifted. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Rickie going undercover. Nor was he sure what to think about her being a cop. However, on the way to the station, she had promised to talk to him later about it.

"Well, we know where he is and who he is," Jim said, "And we know who he chooses for victims. Young adults."

"And?" Rickie pressed.

"We find a way to get you in," Jim said, "And then we get you out."

"Simple enough," Archie commented.

Jim grimaced.

"Oh, never say that in Gotham," Rickie muttered. "Hey, can I go for lunch while you two brainstorm?"

The two shared a look, and Rickie wanted to roll her eyes.

"I'll bring back lunch," She offered.

Archie shrugged. "Go ahead, but be careful."

Jim nodded. "Go, kid. Be careful. You have the money?"

"Yes." Rickie called back as she went out the door. She grabbed her coat and hat, putting them on as she left.

She really needed to get out of there.

Standing in line at a run-down diner, Rickie considered just how exhausted she felt. Not just physically, but emotionally. The diner probably wasn't helping. It was an old place, one she used to sneak out to with Jason.

"Rickie, number four!" Rickie smiled gratefully at the woman who gave her the tray with her food and a bag of food for Jim and Archie, quickly paying the bill.

She planned to eat in, and as her eyes scanned the empty tables in the dark and dingy diner, her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. Jason sat at one of the smaller tables, and he had looked up after hearing Rickie. She saw his eyes widened, but then he hesitantly gestured her over.

Not that it really mattered. Rickie was already heading his way.

She set her tray down, putting the bag of food closer to the wall, and taking a moment to look at Jason. He wore torn up jeans, and a blank tank top with a black leather jacket. It wasn't the same one he had been wearing as Red Hood a few weeks ago.

"Your wrist," Jason said, immediately seeing the black brace. His eyes narrowed at it.

Rickie murmured, "Nice to see you too. It's fine I just hurt it more after . . . after."

Jason knew she was referring to the Black Mask incident. He had stupidly walked into a trap, Rickie went after him despite being miserably sick, and Damian ended up saving the day.

He cursed, scowling. Rickie raised an eyebrow at him.

"Look," Jason said, "I just don't . . . want you to get hurt, okay?"

She could practically see the blow the pride of the fearsome Red Hood took after forcing himself to admit that.

"So you said with an impressive string of expletives," Rickie muttered, a hint of a smile on her face.

"Why are you even here?" Jason asked, annoyed.

"Case for the BPD." Rickie mumbled.

Jason cursed. "You're a cop?"

Thankfully, he kept his voice down. It wasn't good to call out attention in a run-down bar when you're a cop, even if this was one of the nicer places. Everyone knew to respect the owner, Liz. She kept things in line, but still. It was Gotham.

She sighed. "Yes."

He stared at her. "Does he know?"

Rickie winced and ran a hand through her hair.

"No."

Jason gave a low whistle.

"He's gonna be pissed when he finds out," He said.

"Don't mention it," Rickie muttered as she started to eat.

Jason's bright green eyes glinted in amusement, and he casually ruffled his own hair.

Yawning, Jason said, "Fine."

Rickie gave him a small smile, before finishing the rest of her sandwich. She always did love this place. Jason just nodded, payed for his own coffee, and left, though not before tossing her one last glance. She felt like he couldn't believe she was there.

To be honest, she couldn't either. A few months, she thought her little brother was dead. Shortly after, she was told by Alfred Jason was alive. A few weeks ago, they ran into each other. Yeah . . . it was a little too good to be true. She kept expecting something bad to happen.

After leaving her tray and Jason's coffee cup on the table for the bus boy, Rickie grabbed the bag of powered donuts (with raspberry jam; cop cliché, she knew, but it was easy) and left. She had paid her bill already at the register.

Once she got back, Archie and Jim were delighted to see her . . . and the donuts.

Archie grinned at her. "We have a plan, Rookie."

He munched on his donut, white, sugary powder getting everywhere.

Jim quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Rickie knew she wasn't gonna like it. "Let me have it."

* * *

Rickie scowled to herself as she thought about how stupid this was. Apparently their suspect had chosen his last victim in a public place after he interacted with him and pissed him off. Their suspect had followed the guy home and killed him after the poor man's shift was over at his job.

So her job? Somehow find an excuse to talk to and piss off the nutso who usually sat on a park bench. Good thing she was excellent at pissing people off. Her record on that was stellar. The GCPD believed he was searching for another victim.

Since Johnathan Andrews, the suspect, clearly had no qualms about killing either gender she was thankfully allowed to wear her clothing, which was a bonus. She really had been dreading dressing like a hooker. Rickie might've even had a nightmare or two about it last night, in between the nightmare she had of Brent visiting.

Oh, wait. That part hadn't been a nightmare.

 _"Glance to your right."_

Archie's voice from the small earpiece in her, well, ear almost made her jumped. Sure enough, she glanced and recognized Johnathan Andrews from the suspect photos.

"Wish me luck," Rickie murmured to herself, gripping her coffee cup tighter.

She purposefully walked closely to the bench on a collision course with Jack Andrew's legs, which he had stretched out before him, one crossed on top of the other.

Rickie tripped ever-so-gracefully on them, spilling her coffee all over him.

Johnathan Andrews looked up, startled. His murky brown eyes looked at her angry face in surprise, his brow knit together and his dark hair greying at the edges. Couldn't have looked much older than forty, and his face was deceptively kind.

Rickie recognized that malice in his eyes, though. She'd seen enough serial killers to recognize it.

Against her immediate instinct to apologize and help him clean up (courtesy of Alfred, who drilled manners into her, Rickie faked anger.

"Hey! What's wrong with you? Sticking your legs out like that," Rickie scoffed, "Jackass."

Johnathan's eyes flashed with anger.

"I'm sorry," He said smoothly, "But I believe you were the one to spill coffee all over my nice slacks."

Rickie faked disinterest as she glanced at his ruined slacks, and his ruined grey, button up coat.

"And how is that my problem?" She snapped at him. "Look, I gotta go. Thanks for nothing, jerk."

There it was. A murderous gleam had flashed in his eyes, and stayed there. Great. She just pissed off a serial killer.

All in the name of justice.

Rickie stormed off, sensing a few moments later when Jack got up to follow her.

 _"Officer Grayson, initiate the plan."_

She took a deep breath. And started to walk, heading towards the alley they had chosen.

* * *

Rickie woke up on a hospital bed. Archie was asleep in the armchair next to her.

"What-?" She croaked.

"Shut up, Rookie," Archie told her, bringing a glass of water to her lips. He pressed a button.

Rickie took a few gulps, noting her lips were cracked and her mouth dry. Her head was bounding, and everything seemed too bright.

"What happened?" She hoarsely whispered.

Archie shifted almost uncomfortably. "Well, the plan worked, for the most part. He knocked you out, like we thought he would, and we swarmed the location. He was already gone."

Rickie struggled to comprehend this, having a blurry memory of her head being smashed against a brick wall of an alley. She was sure there had been a brief struggle involving a knife before that. It probably could explain why her stomach hurt.

"It took an hour or two, but we track you down thanks to a 911 call from someone who saw their neighbor carrying an unconscious person. We got you out of there, but, um, you have a cut on your stomach. Wasn't deep, just long."

She lifted her head to look at the bandages, but of course she couldn't see them under the hospital gown and blanket covering her. Her clothes were on another chair, along with a new, clean white shirt. The jacket, her black one, wasn't gone like her ruined shirt.

She took her jacket off before the struggle, pretending to stop in the alley to search for her phone. Rickie remembered now. Well, she remembered bits and pieces.

"Nice to know," She mumbled, her words a little slurred.

Archie yawned, exhausted.

"It's late," He said, "Almost ten."

Rickie would've laughed if it wasn't going to hurt so bad.

"Old man," She teased him.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'm sure we can get you out of here soon, and back to 'Haven."

"Sounds wonderfully," Rickie said wistfully thinking of a full night's sleep. No crime fighting for her tonight.

She began to drift off as Archie stood up and went to the door, saying something to the nurse. He shook her awake.

"Hey, you have a mild concussion, you shouldn't go back to sleep so soon." Archie scolded her.

Rickie swatted his hand away, accidently tugging her IV a little.

"Whatever. Just get me out of here. I hate hospitals."

"Okay," Archie sighed, "But just so you know, Jim wanted to see you. He couldn't, so he asked that you give him a call."

He gave her a stern look, and Rickie sighed. "Fine. Now, go. Free me."

They didn't get out of there until about three hours later, which was filled with fun questions, tests, and occasional naps. Archie drove her back to her apartment, and dropped her off outside it.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" He frowned at her, eyes going to her temple and the bandage there.

Rickie rolled her eyes. "Yes, I'll be fine."

She had worse, but she can't exactly tell Archie that. It would bring up questions and her life as Nightwing and Robin would be the eventual answer.

Somehow, Rickie managed to get up to her floor, despite starting to feel the pain of her injuries. The meds were wearing off. Her wrist hurt more after the hits it took during the struggle, and of course her stomach hurt. That was the most painful.

Rickie walked tiredly to her apartment, dragging her feet. It was, like, three in the morning. She was so done with life right now. If he even considered making her go in to work tomorrow, Chief Blowhorn could go –

"Rickie!"

She nearly groaned. Instead, she managed to turn around and face him.

"Clarence," Rickie greeted. Her tone made it clear she wasn't interested in a conversation, but the black haired, blue-eyed Irish man didn't get the hint.

He had a crush on her. It was annoying. Sure, Brian Clarence was good looking, and only about a year older than her, but she just wasn't interested in him that way. Plus, he was technically her land lord as cute as he was.

Technically.

"So, girlie," Clarence said, "how've ye been doin'? Long day at work? You're getting home . . late."

Understatement. It was about three in the morning. Clarence was in his PJs, sweatpants and an old shirt. His hair was tousled, and Rickie resisted the urge to ruffle it.

His Irish accent was kind of thick. Years of living in America had diminished it, but it was still there. Slightly distracted (and definitely tired) Rickie realized he was staring at her, waiting for an answer. She looked down at her police uniform, as if just remembering it was there.

"Oh," She said, "Um, yeah. We had to go to Gotham today - yesterday - for a case."

Clarence grimaced, taking in her tired appearance. He eyed her temple where a bruise was blooming, and where the bandage was.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well," He said, "Need a drink? Food?"

Rickie hid her own grimace.

"Nah, I'm good. I've got work tomorrow," She told him, grateful for the excuse. She did have work tomorrow. Sort of. It was for her bartending job. In the evening.

Honestly, she just wanted to sleep. She had no intention to patrol as Nightwing tonight. She was just so tired. The gash on her stomach still stung despite the painkillers in her system. Rickie was fairly certain she wasn't going to work tomorrow but stay out on medical leave.

Still, Redhorn could decide to be a jerk. She needed as much sleep as she could get.

"Oh," He said, "Well, then good night. See you in the morning?"

"Yeah, see you in the morning," Rickie agreed.

He looked so crestfallen, she almost felt bad. Then he closed the door to his apartment, and she walked a couple of doors down to her own apartment. Her movements were almost robotic as she opened her door and went straight to her room.

Rickie collapsed into her own bed, not bothering to change into night clothes.

* * *

 **Now the fun begins next chapter. This entire thing has been like one giant beginning before I get to the fun part. It's been a little slow even for me, and I wanted to wrap up the Slasher arc this chap.**

 **Review. Let me know what you think. Or not. Either way, please review.**


	5. Surprises

**Here it is. I'm . . . getting there, I guess. I have so much in mind for this story. Sometimes it's hard to write it all out. Questions, feel free to PM or leave a review. To the guest reviewer who mentioned this being an immediate forgiveness fic: Um, no. I wouldn't do that. It'd be too boring.**

 **Her involvement with the League won't be major in this story.**

 **Shout to my new friend Samantha's Library, who helped me decide which way to go with this story. Thanks, Sam (hope I can call you that, if you're reading this. Samantha's Library is a bit of a mouthful).**

 **On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

 _BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

 ** _CRIK!_**

Rickie Grayson's hand slammed onto the annoying advice known as her alarm clock. She liked her alarm in the Nest better, or even the one on her phone. For those she usually had music play instead of the annoying beeping, but sometimes the classic alarm sound worked best for getting her up in the morning.

She turned over, snuggling into her sheets. Rickie grimaced as she felt a flash of pain. As she wondered what part of her didn't hurt, she pondered the all-important question of why the heck she even set her alarm. Especially after what happened yesterday with the GCPD and Slasher. Earlier this morning, Archie had let her know she had the day off.

Currently, she was on bed rest/medical leave from her bartending job, and her job at BPD. Ah, a day off. Hopefully Brent and his buddies wouldn't randomly do a surprise drop by like they did a few days. Rickie had been thinking about it occasionally, the visit making her uneasy.

She felt like Brent had opened a can of worms by coming to her, but Rickie brushed those feelings and thoughts away into a dark corner of her mind. After all, when was the last time she had a day off?

Rickie ignored the fact that she couldn't find an answer to that. She tossed her dark blue, navy sheets to the side, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing at the pain in her ankle. Her leg was in a boot. Hobbling over to her dark, worn wooden dresser (it was once glossy), she took a moment to look at herself in a mirror.

Her black hair was a rat's nest. Saying it was a tangled, knotted mess would be an understatement. Her eyes were bleary, squinting because of the light coming in through the windows to her left. She was pale, and dark bags were under her eyes. And her wrist. It hurt, but it would heal. Unless she reinjured it. Again.

Rickie sighed.

Her mind strayed to how she injured her wrist in the first place, during the incident with Black Mask and Red Hood, before hurting it more during the bust. For a moment, she thought about what she wrote in the letter, and then she shrugged. She meant what she said. Besides, who knows if she'll actually get the chance to say those things to Jason?

Better to be safe, and leave her letter unchanged.

Her bed lay behind her, light blue sheets, a dark blue comforter, and white pillows. She was wearing a tank top (it got hot on summer nights), along with a pair of striped, light blue pajama pants. What could she say? She liked the color blue. She was barefoot, having not went to bed with her usual fuzzy purple socks on.

Sighing, Rickie stretched, yawning. She didn't have anything planned today. That meant she could probably get some work done around here. Rickie got dressed, putting on her favorite pair of worn jeans. Alfred hated them. She loved them.

Afterwards, she threw on an old tie dye shirt. It said 'HAPPY HARBOR', and it was a little big. Rickie smiled sadly at the memories it brought back. Maybe she was feeling a little nostalgic because of the visit. Rickie attempted to brush her hair, then gave up and put it in a messy bun, using a pencil she had on her dresser to hold it together.

She had discovered pencils were surprisingly good for holding her hair in a bun, if done right. Making a split second decision, Rickie just went barefoot. Dressed and ready, Rickie looked around her room. Still a mess. She'd clean it last. Her gaze rested on the window, and she noted that it was raining.

Good thing she was on medical leave from BPD. That would suck to be out there in the rain. Of course, she absently mindedly rubbed the bandages on her right arm with her left hand, what happened with Jack Andrews had sucked as well.

Rickie left her white blinds open, and walked into the hall. Her feet padded against the wood floor, adjusting from the soft tan carpet of her room. Her hall way wasn't that long, and it was considerably narrow. It was slightly smaller than the width of two people.

The walls were a light yellow, one she had picked out ages ago. A window at the end of the hall way appeared to be shut, but Rickie knew differently. It took a lot of work, but the window appeared sealed on the inside and outside. In reality it swung outwards on hinges hidden in the frame, like a door.

The four paned window looked out over the building next to her, and under that building was the Nest in an old cold war bunker. All she had to do was go out the window, down the fire escape, and head down a hidden staircase into the Nest, her base as Nightwing.

A door was across from hers, and she knew it was Tim's room. Well, it was supposed to be a guest room, but Tim used it so much when he visited that it became his room. The door was shut, as it had been for nearly five years since the end of the invasion. The Einstein poster she got him as a joke was still on it.

Next to her room was Jason's room. It still had the posters of rock bands on it. On the day Jason died, she would go into his room, and sit on the floor, curled in ball. Overtime, she had stopped. She hasn't gone in Jason's room for nearly four years. He had died about two years before the invasion.

Both Tim and Jason would visit her whenever they needed some space from Bruce. They would even help her patrol. Rickie could only imagine how much dust has collected in their rooms. Alfred would have a heart attack if he found out. At least she had removed the old food, and water bottles from their rooms.

(Those had been nasty).

Next to Tim's room was the bathroom, which had white tile that was on the floor, and went half way up the walls before it just turned into normal, blue painted wall. It had a toilet, a sink, and a bath tub in it with a shower head. Just a standard bathroom.

Rickie walked down the hallway, and it opened up into her living room, and the rest of her apartment. The rest of the floor in her apartment was wood, except in the bedrooms and bathroom, where it was carpet and tile respectively. Windows were on her left wall, while her right had no windows, only her door that allowed her to go out of her apartment.

By the door was an old fashioned wooden coat rack. The back of her TV was to the windows, and her tan couch faced it. She had a dark brown rug, which went with the light wood floors, and tan couch nicely. A coffee table was also in front of the couch with stacks of paper, and coffee mugs on it.

Hobbling over to it, she collected the mugs, and walked to her kitchen. Her kitchen was an inverted 'U', and her counter overlooked her living room. Her dining table was just in the middle of her kitchen counter, and her living room.

The countertop was gray granite, and wood that held up a dark chestnut. There was a space between the wall, and the countertop about three feet wide that she could walk through to get to her kitchen. In it, she had a microwave (under the countertop), a sink (right under a window), a dishwasher (next to the sink), among other things.

Her fridge was right in front of her, and next to it was a little piece of granite counter top about a foot wide, and two feet deep. She usually dumped her recyclables there. Next to that was her oven, which wasn't used that often. Above all these things, the tops of them almost brushing the ceiling, were dark chestnut cabinets.

They didn't extend over her countertop area, and they contained her clean dishes. Her kitchen was a bit of an organized mess. She turned to her stack of dirty dishes in the sink, and by the sink. She hadn't done them in a while. She'd had no time. Now, she had plenty of time for a cleaning day.

Rickie started to work, going a little slowly, mindful of the pain in her stomach. She frowned as she realized something, and then she checked her bandages and took some painkillers. Rickie couldn't believe she forgot. She winced as she was able to see Doc Leslie in her mind waking Rickie over the head for her stupidity.

Rickie went back to the dishes.

A familiar song came on when she plugged in her earbuds. She began to hum along, not even pausing when she felt the presence of a person behind her. She knew who it was by how lightly he walked.

"- Tt - Grayson, you are absolutely horrid at minding your surroundings. Had I come to kill you, you would already be dead."

Rickie smiled slightly. Without turning around, she said, "Oh, I knew you were there. I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to get impatient."

Damian huffed. "It is considered rude to ignore a guest."

Now Rickie turned around and sat on the counter. She pulled out her earphones. She looked amused as she faced him.

She said, a hint of laughter in her voice, "I wouldn't consider my kid brother popping up out of nowhere - unannounced, might I add - a guest. What're you doing here, squirt?"

Damian scowled. Rickie smirked. He was _so_ adorable.

Damian's scowl deepened, "First off, I am not your brother, and the state of being a kid is only temporary. I will soon grow out of it. Second, I did announce myself to you when I started this conversation. And lastly, do not call me squirt."

"You still haven't answered my question." Rickie pointed out, ignoring him, as she usually did when he told her not to call him squirt.

"I am here because I was asked by my father to escort you to the headquarters of the Sidekick Squad." Damian said.

Rickie's jaw dropped, "What?"

So much for a day off. What was the saying? Ah, yes, Karma could be a b#%$.

Apparently, Damian was serious. Five minutes later, after a vague explanation from Damian, Rickie went to prepare. And by that, she meant she went to the Nest to pick up a few things.

There, she slapped her mask on and hooked her utility belt on, slinging it across her chest diagonally. After that, she pulled on her combat boots, and pulled her hair up into the ponytail she wore as Nightwing, with her bangs swept to the side. She considered many times that her disguise was as bad as Clark's, but in truth, it wasn't that bad.

At least she wore a mask as Nightwing.

Nightwing's escrima sticks were in their holsters, but with the way she had her belt slung across her body, it meant the holster was on her back instead of at her right thigh level belt area. Hm, she should really come up with a name for that . . . Oh well. Things to do, people to see.

Part of her was curious about the Team's reaction to seeing her again for the first time in years in beat up jeans, and a tie die shirt. She internally smirked. This should be interesting.

They headed to the old phone booth that was the Bludhaven zeta tube. Damian and Nightwing just hopped out her window, went down the fire escape, walked a few feet, and turned right into the old telephone booth.

 ** _RECOGNIZED: NIGHTWING B-01_**

 ** _RECOGNIZED: GUEST_**

She took a deep breath as she looked around at the Cave. It looked pretty much the same as before. She shook her head, trying to shake off some of the memories. Noticing Damian scowling, she quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You okay?" She asked him.

Damian rolled his eyes. "Of course. I simply . . . dislike this place. The residents here are idiotic."

Rickie, or Nightwing rather as she was sort of in uniform, raised her eyebrows and looked at Damian. "What did they do?"

Damian just scowled. He said nothing.

She laughed quietly. "You're definitely not a morning person, Mini-Bat. Still, cranky or not, you shouldn't be mean to them. Or hold grudges against them."

Holding grudges. Rickie winced. Damian caught it, narrowing his eyes, but he said nothing.

"What do you suggest I do, Nightwing?" Damian asked her curiously. "Beyond the rather tempting permanent solution of murdering the idiots."

"Pranks," Nightwing began, not even fazed at Damian's casual mention of him committing a possible murder. "Tricks, and traps were all invented for a reason."

"What are you two talking about?" A familiar voice rang out. In Nightwing's opinion, it sounded rather irritated.

Ah, good old Lagoon Boy.

Good thing that at the end of the Invasion, Conner got back together with M'gann. She might've ended up murdering Lagoon Boy for coming in the way of Supermartian if they hadn't gotten back together. It was obvious M'gann still had feelings for Conner, and shouldn't have started dating Lagoon Boy so soon.

"We are merely discussing the art of pranking. Care to join, good sir?" Nightwing asked, imitating a spot on British accent. She mentally thanked Alfred.

Damian snorted, and hid a smile, clearly thinking of Alfred as well.

La'gaan scowled.

Out of the corner of her eyes, another person, apparently anxious to see her, walked up.

"Hey, I think I've met you before. About four or so years ago. The name's Static." Virgil Hawkins introduced himself. "And, um . . ."

Static didn't have to finish his sentence. He stared questioningly at her jeans, and tie dye shirt. Combined with her utility belt, mask, and combat boots, Rickie supposed that she looked rather interesting.

She was saved from having to answer by the arrival of another person.

"Great, you're here." The voice of Knight said.

Rickie rolled her eyes, "Unless the zeta left a part of me behind, yes, I'm here. Who did you think it was? Elmo?"

Brent rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha. It's way too soon and way too early to see you again."

Bantering right back at him was easy. Second nature.

Now Rickie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever, right back at you, Batboy."

Brent's face turned red.

"Shut up," He muttered, unable to think of a good comeback. Even if he had been Batlad, not Batboy.

Damian and Static shot the two of them questioning looks, but they ignored them in favor of avoiding each other's eyes. Brent just stood there, a little way away from Static, but further from Damian and Nightwing. Damian was practically glued to her elbow. Rickie looked at Brent out of the corner of her eye.

He wore a green hoodie, jeans, and his combat boots, no doubt hiding his boots and mask in his sweatshirt. Rickie tried to ignore the fact that he looked kind of cute with his hair all messed up like that. She told herself to cut it out. She was here for . . . Actually, she didn't know why she was here.

If this was some scheme to drag her back into the League and the Team, Batman could forget it. She was done with them. Sighing to herself, she discreetly looked at Static. He was a little taller than before, with the same hairstyle.

Static wore black sweatpants, grey sneakers, a black shirt, and a blue sweat shirt that had some yellow high lights. Lagoon Boy wore the same spandex/mission shorts that he was wearing all those years ago. The distracted, off-task part of her vaguely wondered if Lagoon Boy ever washed them.

For a few awkward moments, they all stared at each other.

Nightwing, of course, broke the awkward silence by sneezing, which caused Damian to snort.

She smacked him upside the head playfully. "Shut it, ya little brat."

Brent and Static (Lagoon Boy didn't bother) automatically gave a warning look to Damian, but to their immense surprise, the alleged hell-spawn only scoffed, rolling his eyes. They relaxed their stance from where they had been ready to spring at Damian and hold him back, barely refraining from gaping at Damian.

Nightwing coughed. "So . . ." She said, "Anyone care to tell me why I was brought from Bludhaven to over here?"

"I will," Batman said, striding over to the group from seemingly nowhere.

He was probably at the Cave for a long time, judging by the half-surprised expression on the other's faces. Most likely, he came early and they forgot he was there. Typical Bruce. Always one for dramatics. She swallowed down her strong desire to flip Bruce off and leave, ignoring the confusing emotions that surfaced.

"Thanks for the heart attack," Nightwing told Batman sarcastically. She put a hand over her heart in a dramatic gesture, faking a look of pained shock.

Humor was always her default when she didn't know what to do. It worked to break some of the awkwardness.

Damian smirked. Brent coughed, while Static blinked in surprise. People did not speak that way to _the_ Batman and live.

Batman simply narrowed his eyes in warning. "You were brought here because the only codes that survived the virus a few months ago were discovered to be yours, despite the order for you to remove them."

His face gave away nothing about his reaction at seeing her.

Rickie snapped, "Well, I won't apologize for removing them, especially since they were the only ones to withstand the virus. Also, Knight and his buddies woke me up at an ungodly hour because of the pyromaniac guy. I didn't appreciate that."

Batman scowled. Rickie was severely tempted to roll her eyes at him. The others watched the exchange between the two with interest. They didn't dare say anything since Batman gave them a warning look to keep quiet.

"You didn't let me finish," He said. "We – that is to say, the League and the Team – require your assistance in repairing the computers' systems."

Nightwing's mouth dropped. The expression on her face was rather comical. Lagoon Boy huffed, crossing his arms. It was clear that he had been against the idea of her repairing the systems.

"But . . . Why me, and not someone else? And shouldn't this be fixed by now?" Nightwing asked, puzzled. She sort of understood why, but still . . .

Batman shot her an irritated glance. "As I mentioned before, the codes you did not remove were the only ones to survive the attack intact. The majority of the League came together and decide it would be in the best interest of League and Team safety if the codes were repaired by you, despite the many capable members of the League and the Team who could do it. Currently, we have gotten the old codes back up, the ones up before the virus, and we need you to replace them with your codes."

Rickie blinked. "Um, okay. . . Wait, how'd you even know they were my codes? It's been years."

Batman shot Brent a look. Rickie understood immediately, while Brent winced, rubbing the back of his head, and muttered a few things under his breath. Probably something about how he was so stupid to come to her for help.

With that, Batman just told her where she'd be working, told her to get it done as soon as possible, she could come in whenever, blah, blah, blah . . . Well, he didn't phrase all those things exactly like that, he said it more formal, and it sounded more official, but really, if she thought about what Batman said too much, she'd fall asleep.

Rickie instead took the mental cliff notes version of his lecture.

Once he finished, Batman walked towards the zeta, and left in a flash of light, the zeta announcing his name.

"Well, he's gone." Nightwing stated.

Damian snorted. "Thanks for stating the obvious, G - Nightwing."

Nightwing gave him a look, silently telling him no using her real name, first, last, or middle. Or nicknames. Damian huffed, opening his mouth, but thankfully Virgil was kind enough to provide a distraction.

"Nightwing, huh?" Virgil looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I definitely know you. You were that chick Arsenal was pissed at, the one with the blue bird symbol."

Smirking slightly at her description, Rickie said, "Yeah, that's me."

Virgil nodded. "Cool, I guess. See you around."

Then he started walking away, waving a hand backwards in what she assumed was supposed to be a wave goodbye. Lagoon Boy shot her one more distrustful look, before stalking away in an impressive imitation of Batman.

Once Lagoon Boy left, only Brent and Damian remained. The two had started glaring at each other, though Brent would occasionally look at Rickie uncomfortably. She saw him frown in concern when he noticed her wrist brace, surprise flashing across his face.

Rickie saw him narrow his eyes, his gaze analyzing. He scowled, and she could almost see the light go off in his mind when he realized that her ribs were hurt. She supposed she was holding herself a little carefully. But the cut on her stomach played a role in that.

She rolled her eyes, brushing off his worried scowl, and started to walk towards her designated work space. Brent made a move to follow, but she brushed it off.

"Don't bother," She waved her hand. "I'll just be zoning out in cyber space. I won't be up for much conversation. Or any interrogations, too."

She shot him a small glare, and he glared at her in return, realizing that she must have seen him scowling at her wrist brace. He couldn't help it. He was just curious about how she got it. And she was hurt. He was curious. Sighing, Brent took a step back, and started to head off to the living room.

He paused in the doorway when he saw Damian start to follow Rickie.

She raised an eyebrow. "Did you not hear what I just said to Brent?"

Damian just scoffed, rolling his eyes. "He is an imbecile."

"He's right there," Rickie chided Damian before Brent could defend himself. "Be polite."

Brent expected half-expected Damian to punch her for scolding him, but instead he huffed, and crossed his arms. Brent struggled not to gape at the sight as he saw Damian sulk, and – dare he think it – pout.

"Hmph," Damian said. "Well, he's still an idiot, because someone needs to accompany you, so that you do not become bored."

Rickie hid a smile. "Uh huh, yeah, that's why you're coming with me. It's not like you miss me."

Damian hadn't been around for a few days. Rickie had been too busy.

"Shut up," Damian scowled. "It's not like you can stop me."

She shrugged. "True. C'mon, let's go."

"Wait," Brent called out, walking towards the pair until he was in front of Rickie and Damian.

They were at the start of the hall way that led to mostly unused rooms, if one walked far enough back and took the right turn. The one to the left of it led to the kitchen, and living room, and Team rooms, and gym, and all that other stuff.

He never bothered paying attention to what every room was. They weren't all used.

"You're letting him come, and not me? Why?"

Brent could hear the disbelief in his voice. Along with something that sounded like jealousy. That couldn't be it.

Nightwing raised an eyebrow at his words. Her blue eyes that always seemed to pierce right through him were hidden by the white of her mask, and he couldn't decide if it was more eerie looking at her with the mask, or without it.

"Why not?"

The annoying little demon was smirking at Brent behind Rickie. Brent shifted uncomfortably, the silence stretching on longer between them, as he struggled to find a good reason.

Sighing, he said, "Never mind, it was stupid. Bye."

He walked away, shooting a small glare towards the smirking Damian who was snickering at him silently, leaving a puzzled Nightwing behind. Then he smiled slightly when he glanced back and saw her eyes widen as she turned around to reprimand Damian, smacking him upside the head lightly.

Throughout it all, Damian still smirked at Brent, though it lessened when Rickie scolded him. Brent shook his head in disbelief. Somehow, Rickie had gotten the little demon to like her. How?! As far as he knew, they didn't know each other, despite arriving in the zeta together. Are they getting along because Rickie agreed to help Damian murder Tim, or something?

He decided that was a mystery to solve another day. But still, it made him pause, and spend a few seconds staring at Damian. When Rickie turned her back, Damian quickly shot him a smug, victorious smirk, like he had won something.

That baffled Brent. What was going on?

* * *

Hours later, the rest of the Team was coming to the Cave from the various missions, and activities they were doing with their friends. The first to arrive with Tim and Stephanie, aka Robin and Spoiler. Tim's, or rather Robin's jaw dropped when he saw Nightwing, who was just getting ready to leave.

She froze by the zeta when she saw Tim.

"You!" Robin cried, stalking up towards her, and pointing his finger in her face.

She didn't quite know how to react. A part of her panicked, so, as usual, she did something impulsive.

Rickie touched Tim's finger with her own. "Boop."

Dead. Silence.

Suddenly, Spoiler started cracking up at the look on Tim's face.

She managed to get out, "She's crazier than I am!"

Damian and Brent, upon hearing the laughter and zeta announcement, had come to investigate, and Lagoon Boy and Static had come out to greet them. Confusion filled their faces as they took in the scene in front of them: Tim standing still, a shocked expression on his face (pointing at air, they noted), and Spoiler on the floor laughing madly, while Rickie stood nearby with a barely noticeable smirk on her face.

Snapping out of his shock, Tim asked, "Why - ?"

But he couldn't manage to finish the question. Robin took in everything, from her combat boots and beat up jeans, to her tie dye shirt and utility belt slung across her shoulder, not to mention her wrist brace.

Spoiler, still smiling, said, "Okay, now that I'm done laughing, who the heck are you?"

Laughing softly at the girl's question, Rickie said, "I'm Nightwing."

The blonde girl in front of her raised an eyebrow. "No name?"

Nightwing shrugged. "I'll tell you later if you really want to know, but it's called a secret identity for a reason."

Spoiler nodded in understanding. The two took a minute to size each other up. Steph was wearing skinny jeans, some comfy looking boots, a white shirt, a purple hoodie that was zipped about halfway up, and sunglasses. She carried with her a duffel bag that probably had her uniform. (Tim had one, too).

Rickie searched her memory, and recalled that Alfred and Leslie had told her about two new girls called Stephanie Brown, and Cassandra Cain. She was pretty certain that Leslie said the blonde one was Stephanie.

Her attention shifter to Tim, who wore dark jeans, and a red hoodie. Gosh, he had gotten taller. He was most definitely taller than her, but he still looked kind of on the short side for a guy (then again, both Team members and League members were all considerably tall, as were some of the villains).

Wow. Tim was taller than her. _Tim_ was _taller_ than _her_. She couldn't seem to wrap her mind on the fact that the kid who three years ago was a head shorter than her was now an inch or two taller than her.

Meanwhile, Spoiler was snickering, looking at her attire. "Is that your hero uniform?"

Nightwing snorted. "Um, no. This is called my 'I'm-too-lazy-to-get-dressed' uniform."

Spoiler grinned. "Awesome." Then she noticed the others. "Oh, hey, Brent. Wassup? Hi Static, and, um, Lagoon Boy. And little demon, how refreshing it is to see you out of the Underworld."

Nightwing snickered, and the others looked kind of surprised. Nobody laughed at Damian. The ex - (sort of) - assassin would skin any who tried alive. And that was Damian being merciful.

"Nice one," she said, now smirking at Damian. She'd have to remember that for future blackmail material.

Damian huffed, crossing his arms and scowling at Spoiler, before going back to glaring at Robin. Robin had unfrozen enough to glare at Damian. That's right, they don't get along, Nightwing remembered. She shot Damian a look that said 'behave'. He just made a nearly unnoticeable face at her.

Brent caught it, and shook his head in disbelief. Spoiler, who had also seen it, snickered softly, which caused Damian to send her a death glare. Tim just blinked, momentarily confused, before going back to glaring at Damian.

Throughout these exchanges, Static and Lagoon Boy began to shift uncomfortably, not following the silent conversation spoken in Bat language.

"Do you guys mind - ?" Virgil's voice trailed off.

"Sorry," Steph said, still trying to hide a smile. A few silent snickers slipped past every now and then.

All of them stood around awkwardly staring at each other for a bit.

"Well," Nightwing said, "I gotta go."

 _ **RECOGNIZED: NIGHTWING B-01** _

"Well," Steph remarked, grinning, "She seems nice. I like her."

Tim just shot her a look.

* * *

 **Another shout out to Samantha's Library, who is awesome. Thanks again, Happy Valentine's Day (to everyone else as well).**

 **R** **eview, please.**


	6. Sick Days

**Thanks to all the people who have reviewed, favorited, or followed. On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

She'd spent the majority of the couple weeks she'd been working on the computers going at odd hours, whenever she could and with the intent to avoid as many people as possible. In fact, other than that very first day, she hadn't really seen anyone else except for Damian.

Hey, she was trained by Batman. She knew how to be stealthy. Rickie should have known her luck wouldn't hold, especially with the little universal truth called Karma that had a tendency to come back and bite people in the ass.

Therefore, it was no surprise that after she zeta'd into the Cave for an hour or two of work after her police job, she'd been knocked flat on her back after someone punched her in the jaw.

"Oof!"

Rickie had a more surprised than hurt expression on her face as she looked up to see Raquel's face. The older woman huffed, scowling angrily at Rickie and immediately using the zeta to get away. Apparently, she'd run into Raquel a.k.a. Rocket just as she was leaving.

Still in her uniform, the look Rocket gave her spoke volumes about her thoughts. She didn't even need to tell Rickie a few choice curse words before leaving.

Dumbstruck, Rickie sat there for a few moments, her hand going to her jaw where she'd have a decent bruise, nothing a little makeup couldn't mask. That was the moment where she forfeited whatever hope she had of having a nice day, or even a nice week. She should've known.

Sighing, she hauled herself up off of the floor, her hand straying to her jaw. She grimaced.

* * *

It was midway through the week, and she felt like she was ready to drop dead. In fact, Rickie was quite certain that if she tripped over her own two feet and laid down on the ground, she wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

Her police work was back to the normal routine of patrolling and paperwork among other duties, and her part time bartending job was doing fine. She'd even covered Aline's shift the last night. Except, criminals seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork, and quiet nights like these were rare.

Normal people, Rickie supposed, wouldn't be sitting on the edge of a Bludhaven rooftop at one in the morning. Sane people, she assumed, would also not be wearing a skin tight, dark grey Kevlar body armor suit with a bright blue bird across her chess.

It certainly wasn't something any young women her age would be doing at this time of night. But Rickie wasn't most people. She wasn't, and likely never will be. Besides, being Nightwing made her happy. She loves Bludhaven at this time of night, too.

The city was somewhere between awake and sleeping, the dull roar of the city noises softened. The lights shined like stars in the dark, few and far in between or clustered together. From her vantage point, a tall work building that was slightly isolated from and taller than the surrounding buildings, Nightwing could see pretty far.

She liked to think while sitting on the ledge, too, though she did her best to not think right now because of her pounding headache.

A ghost of a smile was on her face as she looked out. Most of the crooks were crawling back into their beds, others on their way to the police house. It was a quiet night tonight. These were her favorite nights; the nights she could go to sleep earlier and have fun doing her acrobatic antics on the rooftops.

Quickly, Nightwing rose. She brushed her long, black bangs away. Sometimes, they annoyed her. Rickie's bangs went off to the side by her left ear. She tucked a few black strands behind her ear, giving up when the wind picked up and blew her hair around.

It was things like these that made chopping all her hair off appealing.

It would certainly be easier to manage patrolling. She wouldn't have to put it in a ponytail. But she never bothered for many different reasons Rickie didn't want to think about. Her headache felt like it was getting worse. Work had been awful, but thankfully her bartending shift today had been okay.

Aline had come early and kicked her out from behind the bar counter after informing Rickie she looked like shit, ordering her to rest. Of course, Rickie didn't bother telling Aline she had patrolling to do as Nightwing, but she was grateful for the break all the same.

Running towards the edge of the roof, Nightwing jumped, nimbly flipping onto the next roof. A small grin appeared on her face as she raced back to the Nest, jumping and flipping and grappling. The cool, refreshing air stung her face, and she knew she had a wide grin on her face.

Breathing heavily, she landed on the rooftop of the warehouse above the Nest, looking around for a moment.

She froze and swore she saw a black suited figure staring at her, golden eyes gleaming in the dark. Uneasily, Nightwing looked around her, turning her gaze back on the figure as her hands went to her utility belt. She did a double take when she realized they were gone.

So that was how it felt . . .

Rickie shook her head. She was tired; she needed sleep. She'd been busier lately, ever since she'd agreed to that computer thing about two weeks back (finding time was difficult, since she had a life).

She'd had to find ways to make time even if that meant more hours doing paper work. It must be the paper work, Rickie told herself. After all, there were no other vigilantes who called Bludhaven their city, to her knowledge. She'd have to keep an eye out.

Trying and failing to dismiss the uneasy feeling, Rickie dropped into the warehouse via a broken window and a catwalk. For paranoia's sake, she took the inside entrance, checking to see if the coast was clear. Once she was inside the Nest, Rickie automatically breathed a sigh of relief.

She gladly changed out of her patrol uniform and into some civvies, a pair of grey sweatpants a black shirt that hung off her slight frame. She wasn't exactly the bulkiest and tallest superheroine around. She was an acrobat at heart.

Acrobats as a rule were not very large, or known for their size. Especially ones who flew on the trapeze, like her. Her mind was wandering in faded memories as Rickie took the stairs out of the Nest and into the alley way. Once out, she glanced around warily, the mysterious figure still in her mind.

Rickie hurried swiftly and silently up the fire escape, easily opening and going through the window. She locked in, looking outside before heading to her room. Utterly exhausted, Rickie fell onto her bed, not bothering to get under the covers. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

* * *

Rickie woke up in the morning with a stuffy nose, and her headache was much, much worse. Every part of her seemed to ache, and she swore her joints and bones were creaking and groaning as she sat up. To sum it up, she felt like crap. Her mouth felt too dry, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep.

She scowled as she heard the sound of her alarm, and turned it off. Rickie got her phone and stared at the time on the screen for a while. Ten o'clock in the morning. Pretty late, for her. Something told her she should probably get up for work.

Right. Work. Archie. Chief Redhorn. Stupid crooks and corrupt cops. Her police job. _Paper work._

For some reason, those thoughts weren't exactly encouraging her to get up.

Somehow, she managed to get out of bed and stumble into the hall way, almost running into Tim's door across from hers. Her movements were not in any way her normal, graceful movements as she stumbled down the hall way. Rickie flopped down on the couch, her hand going to her forehead and she squeezed her eyes.

She groaned, burying her face into one of the blankets that lay on the couch, snuggling into it until it was somehow wrapped around her. She turned so her back was to the TV and windows where light streamed in. Her eyes were shut, and she enjoyed a few moments peace.

Rickie found herself grateful Archie and her got to come in late today after taking earlier (and very late) shifts for the past couple days. Some conflicted with her bartending job, but her boss there understood. Hogan's Bar was a cop bar, after all.

She only worked part time there, too. Plus, her friends were usually (usually) nice enough to cover). Checking her phone, she made a disgruntled noise. Rickie shuddered as her head continued to pound. Thinking too much apparently hurt.

Through sheer will power, Rickie dragged herself off of the couch and got ready for working, half-asleep as she changed and walked out the door.

* * *

Walking in the Precinct, she felt like a zombie. Rickie shuffled forward, wearing her uniform which had a light black rain jacket over it, concealing it slightly. It looked like it was about to rain today, the grey clouds hanging low in the sky reflecting her oh-so-cheerful mood perfectly.

Archie Roarbach was waiting for her by the desk in the lobby, chatting with one of the receptionist in the lobby area. Sitting in chairs around the lobby sat people who were waiting to file complaints or accident reports with occasionally one of her fellow cops walking by going home, or going to work.

Archie looked okay, if a bit tired with dark circles under his eyes. He wore simple jeans and a light blue t-shirt with a grey jacket on. A duffel bag with BPD on the side in bright gold letters hung off his shoulders, big enough to contain civilian clothes or a cop uniform.

She frowned as she remembered she couldn't find her bag, being forced to wear her uniform to work (other bags could be used, for the sake of safety).

She always wondered about the bomb threat with those bags, but she supposed someone would incredibly stupid to bomb a police station. And she was fairly certain bomb dogs were around somewhere. Along with metal detectors. Maybe. She wasn't sure. Rickie honestly had trouble thinking straight right now, much less remember important details like that.

He greeted her with a concerned look, clearly noticing her exhausted, paler appearance, and passed over one of the coffee cups in his hands. She gave him a blank look, silently wondering why he was out here and not in his office.

Archie shrugged. He explained, "I figured you'd need some. I just got in, thought I'd stop and ask what reports came in last night."

Rickie made a noise of acknowledgement. She took the coffee, taking a sip of it and feeling it burn her throat slightly. It helped relieve her sore throat somehow, and she took another sip as she walked with Archie to their office.

She spoke, "You'd have better luck asking the guys on duty last night, not the receptionist."

He shrugged. "Chad's a good guy. He's more patient than the guys just getting off duty since he has to deal with people filing reports."

"Mm, yeah," Rickie agreed, never having really talked to Chad, but she agreed with Archie. If another cop bugged her for news as she was leaving the locker room after work, she knew she'd be ticked.

Speaking of the locker room, Rickie internally face-palmed as she remembered she still had clothes in there. The past couple of weeks (days? After getting injured and healing, things blurred with boredom) she'd worn her uniform to work. She sighed.

"You okay?" Archie asked, frowning at her once more. "You look like death warmed over."

She bit back a comment about the paper work slowly killing her.

"I'm fine," Rickie said instead. "Just adjusting after so much time off."

"Ah." He nodded, "How's your stomach? And your wrist?"

Rickie shrugged. "Healing. They're much better. I'm cleared for active duty."

"Good," Archie said.

The two of them lapsed into silence as they reached their office, and she thanked him for holding the door opening. Rickie took a seat at her desk, mentally dancing at the sight of no paperwork on her desk even if she didn't have the energy to dance in real life.

The two of them worked in silence, filling out reports mechanically. Rickie was positive she wouldn't remember half the stuff she was doing now later. Slight nauseas, she took a small break, and leaned her forehead against her desk.

Archie looked over from his own work, taking a break of his own.

He dryly said, "The glamorous side of police work."

Rickie hummed in agreement, part of her feeling like she was about to throw up.

"Hey, kid," Archie said, "You alright?"

"Yeah."

Archie looked at her critically. "Liar. I'm sending you home."

"What? No!" Rickie protested. "I've missed so much time lately. If I miss anymore, I'll get fired!"

Archie shook his head. "You've done the paper work for more than half the guys of the station to make up for lost time and more while on desk duty. He'd be stupid to fire you."

With that, Archie stood up, and Rickie reluctantly stood up and followed him.

"As your senior officer, I'll get you out," Archie said, "Just tell me you're taking a sick day, and I'll take it from there."

Having never taken a sick day as a police officer, Rickie immediately agreed.

"Yeah, okay. I'm taking a sick day," Rickie said as Archie left. She wandered a bit before managing to find the right hallway to the Women's Locker Rooms.

Walking in, Rickie went straight to her locker, opening it and changing into a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a grey sweater. Lazily, she took her hair out the police bun it was in, letting it hang loose. She shut the locker, slung her black rain jacket on, and left.

Somehow she managed to find her way out of the building, bumping into a few other officers who told her to get better, one of the nicer, more motherly police woman recommending a recipe for chicken soup. Outside, her feet padded against the pavement, and she found herself wondering what she could do on her sick day.

Her overwhelming exhaustion gave an easy solution to that, and Rickie walked to her apartment. She shut the door behind her quietly, looking around. It felt strange being back this early in her apartment. Or maybe that was because she felt a little light headed. She wasn't really sure.

Not really caring, Rickie slumped onto the couch. Feeling absolutely freezing, she wrapped a bundle of blankets around her. Eventually, she dozed off.

* * *

She woke up hours later, still in the clothes she fell asleep in but this time she felt like she was burning up. Suddenly being wrapped up in this many blankets was a terrible idea. She kicked them off, taking a moment to close her eyes and using her hand to cover her eyes as she lay on the couch, the other hand laying no her stomach.

Her skin felt cold and sweaty, and she still felt hot. Part of her felt completely weak and even more exhausted, like that feeling she usually had after her fever broke or she was finally improving. She miserable in the 'finally-getting-better' way.

But her thoughts were no longer muddled by the overwhelming urge to rest. The usual restless energy she got when sick was coiling inside her, begging to be released. She shuffled on the couch, sitting up. Rickie gripped the armrest tightly as the blood rushed to her head, but she needed to get up.

She needed to do something. The bad thing about living alone: there was no one to drive completely bonkers when she was sick and resting. She used to drive Jason and Tim crazy when she was recovering from being sick, not well enough to do anything but still well enough to want to do something.

With these thoughts in mind, Rickie made her way to her room, easily putting on different clothes (a pair of jeans and a long sleeved grey shirt) before grabbing her black rain coat. Making a split second decision, she went down the fire escape, pausing and glancing around in front of the zeta.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she shivered, goosebumps on her arms. She felt like she was being watched. Looking around warily once more, she fixed her hair, and slid on a pair of sunglasses she'd grabbed on her way out.

Sighing, she punched in the coordinates. A familiar flash of light, then,

 **RECOGNIZED: NIGHTWING B-01**

She tensed, part of her slightly on alert considering her encounter with Rocket a few days back. When there was nothing, she relaxed, hurrying towards her room. The Cave was slightly chilly, and she tightened her rain jacket around her.

Still feeling slightly sick, she breathed a sigh of relief as she entered her work room. Walking into it felt a bit like taking shelter in a war zone, or going on the base in tag. The rest of the base was the danger zone. This was a safe haven, her little hidey hole where she could do her work and not be bothered.

Of course, that didn't stop Damian from popping in randomly, usually going to sit on the sofa that had appeared in the room one time when she came back. Taking the old codes down while replacing the new ones was a complicated process.

Rickie didn't want to take them down all at once and leave them vulnerable. She bit her lip as she looked at decent sized wooden table a few feet away from the sofa. It wasn't anything fancy, just plain wood, like it had been built recently. The top of the table was covered with various papers.

Walking in, the table was to her left, the sofa was to her right, and the holocomputer was on the wall by the sofa. Yawning, Rickie wandered over to the holocomputer, opening it up and checking the codes. She stared at it blankly for a minute, in a sort of _now what?_ Kind of way.

Going to the table (lacking any chairs around it), Rickie easily jumped on top of it, sitting cross-legged and searching for the papers she would need. It would probably be easier to keep everything on the computer, but given the security of them at the moment, she wasn't comfortable with that.

Besides, she'd always been a more tactile person, despite her brilliant computer (hacking) skills.

Before she knew it, her eyes were drooping, sleep once more calling her. She struggled to keep her eyes open for a while, but she yawned again. And then laying down on her back on top of the table seemed like a really good idea, and it wouldn't really be that awful to just close her eyes for a moment . . .

* * *

Kaldur was bored. As the leader of a team of (mostly) underage superheroes and a grown adult with a life to live, that wasn't a feeling he was very used to. So Kaldur chose to spend his time in the library, most of the team dealing with school or life.

He was fairly certain Beast Boy was somewhere in the Cave, and no doubt Lagoon Boy was lurking around somewhere. Bart, possibly, was around, but he found that unlikely. He was aware his friends were busy, and as someone who was usually busy, Kaldur found himself grateful for the alone time.

He stiffened when he heard the zeta announcement, a frown creasing his face. Laying his book down, Kaldur rested his hand on the knees of his dark sweatpants, tugging at the bottom of his normal red tunic. The outfit bore a vague resemblance to his Aqualad uniform.

Nightwing was here once more. Kaldur initially thought that after the decision to approach Nightwing was she had turned it down or something else along those times, but as one of the full time residents he'd heard her come in at odd hours. Whenever he tried to find her, she managed to avoid him.

Kaldur debated with himself, thinking about how strange it was Nightwing came in now. Sighing, he stood up, walking purposefully to the door towards the door. At least searching for her would give him something to do.

He walked in the back hallways of the mountain while he searched, knowing the room wouldn't be too obvious or frequently used. He managed to find it, pausing outside the door. The silence around him was unbearable.

Kaldur privately knew that a small portion of him was angry at Nightwing, but that anger didn't last long after the Invasion. The plan was what he needed after Tula . . . after Tula was gone, and he learned Black Manta was his father. As much as he may have hated it, it was what he needed.

So no, he couldn't remain mad at her. He was mad for her disappearing, but she told him she'd needed it a break. He'd seen how harshly she was being treated, and he let her go. Kaldur regretted it, when he thought about how much time was missed.

As he stood on the other side of the door, mixed feelings created a storm within him. He wondered what – who, he would find. An angry, broken girl? A cold one, who showed no feelings? Apprehensive, Kaldur went inside.

Whatever he half-expected as he opened the door, it wasn't this. A young, black-haired woman lay asleep on a work table on top of piles of paper. She was on her side, using one of her arms as a pillow. There were papers clutched in her hands.

Some of the mess was notebook paper with scribbles of letters and numbers on it. Pencils lay scattered across the table. Wads of crumpled paper were on the floor. All in all, it was a rather shocking sight to see. This was not how . . . After all these years . . .

Dam. Rickie was old enough to drink. He blinked as his brain seemed to shut down. Eventually, he recovered.

"Busy?" Kaldur asked the asleep Nightwing.

He knew it was kind of cruel, she clearly hadn't been getting much sleep judging by how pale and worn she looked. But he was still trying to get over the shock of seeing her again, and he wanted to make sure this was real.

She was startled awake and flailed around, still half asleep before she ended up falling off the table, a few papers and pencils falling off as well.

"Ugh, I'm up," Rickie said from her spot on the floor, groaning a little in pain. Groggily, she asked, "Where's the fire?"

She looked genuinely worried, but her face broke into a sheepish expression when she saw Kaldur chuckling.

"Think that's funny, don't you?" She huffed unhappily, scowling slightly at the amused look Kaldur sent her.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Falling off a table is a splendid way to wake up, Nightwing."

The worst part? Kaldur kept a perfect poker face while saying that. It was ruined by the small smile he cracked at the end.

". . . You suck . . ." Nightwing said grumpily.

Kaldur chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well, since you're awake, perhaps you would like to join us for dinner?"

She raised an eyebrow, the movement visible even though she wore her domino mask.

"And by that," She said, "Do you mean I cook, and whoever else is hungry in the Cave can eat with?"

Kaldur's lips quirked up, and he pretended to think.

"That would be nice," he said at last, "Though there isn't really anyone else here, my friend."

Rickie shook her head, a lump in her throat when he said friend.

"You sure?"

He nodded. "I do believe we need to catch up."

Her expression was guarded, and she was clearly reluctant, but he'd found her. They walked to the kitchen in silence, Kaldur once more looking at her too thin frame.

"You should eat better," He remarked.

Rickie gave a dry laugh. "Yeah, well, I've been busy. How about you?"

"I have been well," Kaldur shrugged. "The Team has kept me busy."

Rickie hummed to herself as she made something simple, and Kaldur started reading his book. The scene was almost a familiar, the actions routine. When they'd been younger, Rickie cooked food when M'gann couldn't, usually teaching the martian how.

She made something simple, spaghetti and meatballs. They ate the meal in relative silence, the silence awkward but not quite tense. With each passing minute, Rickie felt her tired and overworked nerves fraying more and more, but she was happy Kaldur was here.

He knew her. He'd known since she was ten years old and Kaldur was fourteen when she met him briefly for the first time. He knew her name. But at the same time, he was completely foreign. She'd known him them, but she didn't now.

"How is Bludhaven?" Kaldur asked eventually, too curious to remain silent.

"It's good," Rickie said, starting to wash her empty dishes.

It was a relief to sit down and eat actual food, not microwave mac n' cheese.

She said, "I'm sorry, Kal, I have to go."

Kaldur nodded, but as she turned to leave, he spoke quietly.

"I do not blame you, Nightwing."

She thought of her recent reunion with Rocket.

"Yeah," Rickie said, her words slightly bitter, "But everyone else does."

She walked away. Kaldur didn't say a word, not knowing how to respond to that.

* * *

 **Before I say anything else, my librarians are awesome. I walk into the library, and right when I walk in the one says, "Unless this building is on fire, please do not bother us."**

 **I burst out laughing.**

 **So I'm getting there. And now Kaldur has entered the story! Sorry, but I'm not really seeing him as a romantic interest. Mostly as an older brother, rather. And another thing, I'm thinking of doing a series of randomly updated one-shots of Rickie when she was younger as Robin. Basically, one-shots that happen before this story. Let me know what you think.**

 **Any mistakes, sorry, tell me and I'll fix them. Review.**


	7. Familiar Faces

**On with the story!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

Walking swiftly, Brent entered the room where he found Rickie typing away on a holo computer. He gritted his teeth as he stood there, trying not to scowl, glare, or grimace. Hi blue eyes were stormy, and Brent was fighting the strong urge to hit his head against the wall. First, Damian decides to disappear, and now he's got to talk to her, because for some reason Batman decided he should do it.

He lost the battle and ended up scowling fiercely, but he managed to refrain from hitting his head against the wall. Still, Brent ran a hand through his darker, reddish brown hair, letting out sigh of frustration.

However, without him knowing it his scowl became a small, amused smile the longer he watched her. She looked strangely relaxed despite the fact that she was working, with her dark hair in a ponytail, even messier than usual. A few wispy strands hung in her face, giving her laid back look, strengthened by the fact that she wore a tank top that might've once been white which was covered in grease stains.

He scoffed softly when he realized her mask was crooked yet again, and saw Rickie had only taken off top half of her suit, still wearing the bottom half and Brent saw the top half hanging on one of the chairs like a jacket. Then again, the top half of her suit was like a jacket, made of dark grey Kevlar with a blue bird across her chest, which folded all the way over to attach at an unseen seam on the one side instead of the middle like an actual jacket.

A hidden flap covered it, just like it covered where the top attached at her waist. The result was that her Nightwing suit looked like it was one piece, not two. Rickie had designed the suit so it purposefully looked like one piece. Kind of brilliant, really, but like hell would he tell her that. Brent had no desire to give the woman yet another reason to be irritating. She was irritating enough without him adding to her ago.

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the memories, and snorted at the mess on the table. Her entire work station was a mess with papers scattered randomly on a table, and she couldn't look any less professional in her tank top and half her uniform with the other half of her suit lying haphazardly on the chair. Brent frowned at her in disapproval, though she remained oblivious. He rolled his eyes.

Trying failing not to be annoyed, he remembered the reason he was here in the first place. Brent crossed his arms. He awkwardly stood there as he waited for her to notice him.

She didn't, much to his annoyance.

Brent cleared his throat.

Rickie made a dismissive noise, and waved her hand at him in a dismissive gesture.

Brent rolled his eyes. Rickie was in Cyber Space. He could relate, he went to that place himself sometimes. But, still. Rude.

"R - Nightwing," Brent said.

She made a grunting noise.

"Nightwing," Brent said again, more forcefully.

Rickie waved her hand again.

"Nightwing," Brent put emphasis on her name.

"Hm?" Rickie asked, not taking her eyes of the screen.

Lines of code flashed across her screen, and Rickie was typing ridiculously fast.

"Have you seen the little demon?" Brent asked her.

Rickie hummed in acknowledgement, clearly not paying attention.

Brent pinched the bridge of his nose. He checked to see if the door was closed.

He asked again, "Have you seen Damian, Richille?"

"Don't call me that," Rickie snapped automatically. Then she said, "No. Why?"

"No reason," Brent said.

She stared at him blankly. He fidgeted.

"Bats can't find him." He admitted. "We think he might've gone after Killer Croc."

Rickie spun around, abandoning her computer completely. "What!?"

He blinked at her reaction. "He has us checking other places just in case. He's gone after Croc."

She cursed, and he jumped as she hurriedly snatched her uniform top, putting it on and clicking the hidden buttons and zipping up the hidden zipper on the one side. Without another word to him, she practically ran out the door.

"Okay . . ."

* * *

That was it. She hated sewers.

Her leg throbbed in pain. It barely supported her weight, or at least it hurt to put weight on her leg. She leaned against the wall, holding herself up with her arm. Rickie tried to control her breathing.

In.

The stench of the sewage made her gag.

Out.

Her breath was shaky.

In.

Her cracked ribs gave a painful twinge.

Out.

Her breath was more even.

Nightwing's eyes watered a bit because her leg felt like it was on fire, but she knew she had to move. Her skin crawled as she thought about Killer Croc, who was still loose in the tunnels. Nightwing's leg burned a bit more as she thought about the powerful bite Croc had. Due to an unlucky stroke of fate, Croc had bit her leg, and now it was slowly leaking blood. She was trapped in the sewers, and she was trying to find a way out. Key word: trying.

Had she mentioned how much she hated the sewer?

She dragged herself up from where she'd slid down the wall onto the floor, giving her leg a quick look. Nightwing grimaced and looked away. There were bloody puncture marks in her uniform from Killer Croc's teeth, but thankfully no large chunks of her flesh or pieces of uniform were missing. Nightwing kept one hand on the wall, gingerly setting down her injured leg, this time bracing herself for the pain. She removed her hand from the wall, and swayed dangerously.

She stifled a gasp, and gritted her teeth. She needed to get out. Warily, she eyed the wet gunk in the middle of the sewer. She was standing on some tiny concrete maintenance walkway, but it was far too close to the water for her liking. When she found Damian, she was going to kill him. What on earth had he been thinking? She pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling forcefully as she hobbled along.

Sadly, her wrist computer was damaged in the fight. Croc had surprised her and dragged her into the water by her leg. She'd kicked him off, but he scratched and his stupidly sharp claws damaged her computer. Just her luck. She'd known things weren't going to end well. Any time it involved sewers and her, it never ended well.

Nightwing nearly shouted with joy when she found the ladder leading up to the sewer grate, some light leaking through the holes in the grate. She still glanced around. Yes, she needed medical help. But Damian. Damian, the idiot, was in here with Croc, who would tear that boy to pieces.

Well, Bruce was also in the sewers looking for Damian, but Nightwing was pretty sure that if Batman found Damian, he might tear Damian into pieces, too. Which left her, because Jason was too busy wallowing in his own problems, Tim hated the kid and hated her, and Steph chose to follow Tim's lead.

She'd searched for Cass, who Damian mentioned once or twice (read: praised. Damian respected Cass. But he didn't respect Nightwing, apparently). She hadn't been able to find Cass. So like a good, caring older sister she went after her (slightly) homicidal little brother who went after Killer Croc to prove himself, or for an equally stupid reason.

All the while trying to avoid Batman, who was after said (slightly) homicidal little brother after the definitely homicidal Killer Croc. Nightwing meant to avoid Killer Croc, but that hadn't gone too well. In her defense, she was rusty. There were no Killer Crocs in Bludhaven who loved sewers (thankfully).

With these thoughts in mind, she gazed back down the tunnel in direction opposite from where she came. She half-hoped Damian would come running down the hallway, preferably without Killer Croc barreling after him, ready to apologize for running off. No such luck. She was greeted with darkness and silence. Nightwing shook her head.

Stupid, stupid kid. But he was her stupid kid brother. Nightwing quickly turned the night vision in her mask off, switching to infrared instead. Croc still had a heat signature. So did Damian. Hopefully this would work. She brought out her escrima sticks, her sense on her high alert as she went quietly walked down, scarcely daring to breath, afraid she would miss something important.

It took some time. The tunnels twisted and turned. During that time, she felt like she was in the middle of a horror movie, at the moment where the scary music was playing and people watching the movie know something bad will happen to the character onscreen. Especially if they're alone. Which she was. Okay, she might be the tiniest bit freaked out. The thought that Killer Croc was running around somewhere here was not reassuring her.

She crept along carefully, and regretfully had to put one escrima stick away to lean one arm on the wall as she walked for extra support. Without it, she felt like she was one slip away from falling into the delightfully nasty water. Nightwing didn't even want to think about what the slime coating the walls was made of. Or, for that matter, what was in the water she took a delightful swim in when she scuffled with Killer Croc. Or what kind of infection her wound could get.

Hurt, tired and growing crankier by the minute, she didn't think too much when she turned the next corner. That proved nearly fatal, because she nearly screamed as she ran into someone, and the someone she ran into nearly screamed. Automatically, she covered their mouth with her hand, noting the significantly shorter height.

Damian.

In return, she felt a hand immediately over her own mouth, preventing her from making noise. Damian put one finger to his lips, and she noticed he was in the black and white uniform again. The white top half was caked in a layer of grime. But he was alive. She had to resist the urge to hug him tightly.

There were more pressing, large scaly matters at the moment.

She nodded, and pried his hand off of her mouth, switching her mask back to night vision. Her blood ran cold when she spotted the line of spikes, just as Croc raised his head out of the water, speaking in a low hiss in an attempt to get Damian to reveal himself.

Nightwing nearly had a heart attack, but luckily his back was to them. She quietly stood beside Damian, both of them frozen to the spot. She noticed his concerned glance at his leg, and the anger that flashed across his face a second after. Brushing it off, she reached into her belt, bringing out a few Wing-Dings.

Croc continued to taunt Damian, trying to goad him out into the open.

Damian gave them a curious look. She mimicked an explosion with a bright flash of light, using her hands to make the explosion, and covered her eyes. He rolled his eyes at her, not able to understand. She closed her eyes briefly. Nightwing jerked her head towards the way he came, and mimed throwing the Wing-Ding.

She mouthed as slowly as possible, _When I tell you to go you start running._

Comprehension dawned on Damian's face, and for a moment he looked as if he were about to argue. She glared at him, and Damian swallowed his pride, nodding in agreement.

"C'mon, little pest," Croc snarled, still trying to taunt Damian.

Not very well, she might add, but his horrible taunting bought them time. Soon, however, he'd get bored and start searching. Nightwing debated the pros and cons, weighing the risks. When it came down to it, she trusted Damian to make it.

With her leg, she wasn't sure, but she hadn't broken it. She was able to run, though probably not very well. She would need to run, and fast. Killer Croc fell silent, apparently waiting. She cursed internally. They'd wasted time. He would hear if she spoke. She grabbed the Wing-Ding she needed, ready.

She whispered in Damian's ear so softly her words were nothing more than a breath, "Start running."

Killer Croc roared, whipping around, but she launched the Wing-Ding at him, at the same time grabbing Damian and yanking him around the corner. The close quarters magnified the explosion, and judging by the furious, pained roars the Wing-Ding served its purpose.

She ran, Damian running alongside her, both of them gasping for breath as they ran.

Left, right, right, right, left, left, right, straight, left. They ran on, Rickie remembering the way back.

Corners she'd turned so carefully she now raced around, not bothering to be silent. Silence still fell, and soon she could only hear Damian breathing heavily beside her as they ran. Silence wasn't good. Not good at all. She glanced over her shoulder, and dread filled her as she saw the shape in the water, the yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. She immediately chucked an explosive slightly in front of him into the water. Damian jumped when the explosive went off and Croc roared curses at her.

It was almost funny if it wasn't terrifying. Damian and her ran even faster, encouraged by the promises of a painful death. They rounded a final corner and – there! Street light still shined through the grate, and at the ladder Damian turned to her, gesturing for her to go first.

Nightwing was having none of it.

She grabbed him, and practically threw him up on the ladder. Damian hissed, reminding her of an angry cat. She ignored him, bringing out her escrima sticks and a Wing-Ding as she faced the way they'd come. It took her a moment to realized things weren't silent anymore. She realized there were the sounds of a fight going on, Killer Croc still roaring angrily. The noises were close. But he wasn't roaring at her and Damian.

Of course. How could she have forgotten? Batman was in the sewers. Of course the sounds of an explosion and Croc's yelling caught his attention.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Really, it was the small miracles.

"C'mon!" Damian whisper-shouted.

She made a mad dash up the ladder, way too happy to be out of the sewers. Damian shoved the grate back on, and the two of them lay in the middle of an alley. She stared up at the sky, taking in big gulps of fresh (sort of) city air.

After a few moments, Damian stood up and impatiently leaned against the brick wall. He scrunched up his nose as he saw her continuing to lie on the dirty concrete. A few rats scuttled around in the nearby dumpsters, as if sensing Damian's disapproval and wanting to go far away.

Nightwing didn't care. She was exhausted, especially now that the adrenaline was fading. She would've happily laid there for a good hour, but Damian spoke.

"You should go to Thom – "

"No names in the field," Nightwing said immediately.

She knew who he was talking about without him mentioning the name. The Bat Clan's resident doctor trusted to deal with their injuries from their night activities, Leslie Thompkins. She'd been Bruce's family doctor, and ended up being dragged into it. Leslie and Alfred were a formidable duo. (The woman had to be, she helped Alfred raise Bruce).

Damian huffed, crossing his arms. "I wasn't about to . . ."

She rolled her eyes. "Uh huh."

Now Damian rolled his eyes with more attitude than a ten-year-old should have. She could've sworn he grumbled something about no one even being around, but she let it slide.

Nightwing sighed. "However, you're right. I do need to go see Doc."

She stood, and out of respect for him, pretended not to notice the way Damian hovered. He was worried, though the boy would never admit it. She hid a small smile, ruffling his hair fondly. Damian swatted her hand away, scowling unhappily. Biting her lip, Nightwing thought about it, then smacked Damian upside the back of his head.

"What?" Damian asked, thoroughly surprised.

"Do you know how worried I was?" Nightwing demanded, looking at him accusingly. He blinked, unused to having someone worry over him, though with Grayson he should've expected it. "You're so stupid. Why, for the love of Batman, did you go after Killer Croc?"

He crossed his arms defensively. Damian turned his head slightly away, refusing to answer. She sighed out of frustration and exasperation.

"Hey," Nightwing said, "I was worried. Don't do that again. Do you hear me?"

He nodded. She knew that was all the answer she was going to get for now, so Nightwing hugged him gently. He relaxed, leaning the slightest bit into the hug, before abruptly pulling away. Nightwing hid her smile.

"How did you get here?" Damian asked.

She shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "I have my ways."

He sulked, and she laughed, knowing that the lack of an explanation would irk him. Served the little bugger right for making her save his sorry behind.

"Very well then," he nodded, ending the conversation.

The two of them got onto the rooftops, and once on the roof she could sense Damian's hesitation. For all his confidence, he'd never really been out on the rooftops at night. Nor had he had to find Leslie's clinic. In fact, she wasn't sure if Damian ever went to the clinic before. She smirked at him teasingly, and Damian glared at her in return. Dropping the smirk, she rolled her eyes.

"Follow me," Nightwing said.

"Are you certain, G – Nightwing?" He asked.

She could've sworn he smirked when he asked that, not needing to mention how long it's been since she'd patrolled the rooftops of Gotham. She could've sworn that this was Damian teasing her.

Smiling, she rolled her eyes, "Hey, I'm not that old. I've been doing this longer than you, I know a few tricks."

Damian scoffed. "You have taught me your tricks."

She flashed him a blinding smile. "Not all of them. Follow me."

With that, she neatly flipped off the roof of the building, ignoring the pain (after so many years, she had a high pain tolerance). She heard Damian sputter something behind her before he took off after her.

* * *

Stopping by the Cave the night after the Croc incident was maybe not the wisest choice. She usually tried to avoid not patrolling for two nights in a row. Honestly, though, she hadn't wanted to patrol, and Leslie did give an order to rest for once in her life. Rickie, admittedly, had a knack for getting injured. It was probably because she patrolled Bludhaven alone.

Probably. She also had a strong desire to finish the codes as soon as possible. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could go back to her old routine. She was broken out of thoughts when the door to her room slammed, a figure panting as he leaned against it. The green shape shifter did a double take when he saw Nightwing standing there looking very surprised in jeans and an oversized green T-shirt.

His face broke into a wide grin. She couldn't get over her shock.

"Nightwing!" Beast Boy said happily, bouncing up and down with excitement. "It's so good to see you!"

She laughed. "Yeah, it's been a while."

Beast Boy frowned, trying to look angry. He complained, "And who's fault is that?"

"Oh, c'mon, BB," Rickie said, "Cut me some slack."

Beast Boy crossed his arms, and shook his head stubbornly.

"No. We haven't heard from you for ages! What happened? If you didn't have to be here, we'd probably spend even more time wondering if you're alive. Cory's about ready to fly over and check on you."

She felt the beginnings of guilt stir within her, and hid her flinch when Beast Boy mentioned Cory. Rickie hadn't left the Titans on the best of terms with Starbolt. He hadn't understood why she needed to go back to Bludhaven, why she needed to eventually return to the Team. He wasn't able to understand.

"Yeah, well, sorry," Rickie brushed Beast Boy's words off, instead asking, "Well, how are you doing? How are the others?"

Beast Boy shrugged. "I'm fine, but I've been busy."

"That's great," Rickie said, making a move to organize the papers on the table. She'd been standing in front of the holo screen doing nothing since Beast Boy came in, and felt a headache coming on from staring at the screen for too long.

"You could always ask the others how you're doing yourself," Beast Boy suggested.

She gave him a look that seemed to be asking him if he was serious.

He sighed. "Worth a shot."

He looked so disappointed, for a moment she thought he'd say something else. She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it as he jumped up, a look of realization on his face.

He quickly said, "Well, I gotta go. Cassie's probably calmed down by now. Bye!"

He practically ran out, and Rickie watched him bolt out the door suspiciously. He had that mischievous smile on his face, the one he usually wore after he booby trapped the Titan Tower. She shook her head, figuring she'd find out later. Rickie focused back on the paper mess.

* * *

Maybe a little over an hour later, she discovered what, exactly, Beast had been smiling about in the form of a tall, redheaded man, tan enough to be borderline orange with vivid green eyes and bright ginger hair. Ginger air with tan skin somehow worked with Starbolt. It always had.

"Anything else?" Rickie asked Starbolt.

After getting over the initial shock that he was here, and Cory explained the how (Beast Boy ratted her out), he proceeded to lecture her. Since she got no response, Rickie assumed he was done. He was staring at her in relief, and he looked exhausted. She checked the time at the corner of the computer, and saw that it was past midnight. His red hair stuck up on one side, like he'd just jumped up out of bed, and Cory's purple T-shirt and jeans looked rumpled.

"Right," She said, "Well, mmph!"

That last part was because Cory kissed. Just as quickly as he kissed her, Cory pulled away, leaving her stunned.

"Wha - ?" Apparently, she was incapable of speaking right now.

Rickie was also incapable of thinking, because her mind was in a daze.

Cory grinned, but it was more of a smirk. "I've wanted to do that again for a long time, bluebird."

"Don't call me that," Rickie muttered automatically, her face turning slightly red at the old nickname.

Cory mumbled something unintelligible, and he pulled her close, hugging her tightly. Confusion flitted across Rickie's face for a moment, before she accepted the hug. His warmth wrapped around her, and she unconsciously leaned into it, closing her eyes and relaxing.

"It's good to see you again," Cory said, his voice muffled by her hair.

Rickie hugged him back. She realized missed him, which surprised her, because she hadn't realized just how much she missed him until now.

The two didn't quite know how long they stood there hugging one another, wrapped in each other's embrace, but eventually they pulled apart. Cory still kept a hand on her shoulder, as if to reassure himself that she was actually there. Rickie smiled reassuringly at him, if a bit tiredly. She felt drained, like seeing Cory again drained any energy she had left.

Cory tried to take in every detail of her, studying her and noting the differences from when he last saw her. Her hair seemed darker somehow, as if the memory of the midnight black hair had faded, and he had forgotten the precise shade of blue her eyes were. He wanted to rip off her mask to see them, but he knew he couldn't. Rickie wouldn't allow him to, especially since they were in her computer work room at Mount Justice.

The door was shut. He knew that he'd end up using her real name once or twice, but part of him doubted anyone would be around to here it. He looked around briefly, smiling slightly at the work space cluttered with random things. Rickie had a work table covered with papers pencils set off to one side of the room. On the other, there was a beat up green couch facing away from the door. She'd probably dug it out of storage. Something was off, though.

Other than those things, the room had the stale, dry feeling of not being used. It smelled kind of like a new house before it was lived in. Cory wrinkled his nose.

Noticing this, Rickie frowned.

"What?" She asked.

He shrugged. "Just didn't expect you to be in a place like this. It's really . . . out of the way."

Rickie's lips quirked up into an amused smile. His heart skipped a beat. Was she even aware of the effect she had on him?

"It's only temporary while I fix the computer system," She told him.

She was never going to tell him that when she first came into the room, she half-expected to find storage boxes somewhere. Knowing Cory, she knew he wouldn't see the humor in that.

"Yeah," Cory said, "About that, why do you have to do this? Why can't someone else?"

Sometimes, she was left wondering that herself.

Rickie shrugged. "Bats asked, and I can see some old faces. It's been nice, if a little tense."

Understatement, but she supposed things could be worse.

He sighed. "At least I finally get to see you again."

"And the first thing you do is kiss me," Rickie remarked, smirking slightly.

He smirked. "I can't help it. You seem to have this effect on me ever since we first met."

She lightly smacked his arm, knowing he was thinking of their first meeting. Cory had been alone, confused, and dangerous. When she tried to reach out to him, he kissed her and he could suddenly speak broken English. Over time, thankfully, his English improved, but he still had a habit of butchering some words. Rickie suspected it was because English wasn't her first language.

Still, despite the many languages she knew, Cory only spoke English. Rickie yawned, and she shook her head. Cory looked at her questioningly when she grabbed his hand with her own, tugging him out the door.

"C'mon," Rickie said, "I should go, and I'm guessing you don't know the way back."

Sheepishly, Cory admitted, "I may have not been paying the best of the attention when Friend Beast Boy led me to you."

* * *

She cursed her own luck. Obviously Brent was here. Obviously he was awake. Of course he'd run into her and Cory at the Zeta tubes. Rickie saw him look at their hands, and she hurriedly let go of Cory's. Cory looked at her, but didn't say anything.

Brent ignored her. He asked Cory, "Who are you?"

Cory answered, "I am Starbolt, with the Titans. Friend Beast Boy allowed me access to your base."

Brent blinked. He muttered something about having a talk with Beast Boy, before clearing his throat and saying, "I'm Knight."

Rickie snorted, shaking her head at how they both used their alias when both of them were wearing civvies, neither wearing masks. Although Cory didn't wear a mask in the first place.

"C - Starbolt, it's time to go." She interrupted their little chat, more than a little annoyance in her voice.

Cory took one look at her with her arm crossed, and then nodded in agreement. "Very well. It was nice to meet you, new Friend Knight."

She didn't miss the lack of enthusiasm with which he said that. Neither did Brent.

"Goodbye, bluebird," Cory said to her, giving her a quick hug and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She froze, and didn't say anything as Cory entered the Zeta tube and she pressed the coordinates.

"Bluebird?" Brent questioned, looking at Rickie.

Much to his surprise, Rickie blushed. There was no other way to describe it. Except Rickie didn't blush. Annoyed, Brent scowled, something dark and angry stirring in him. His scowl deepened when he remembered their hands locked together.

"Are you okay?" Rickie asked him.

Her forehead was creased in the middle like it always did when she was worrying or thinking. Brent softened at the familiar sight. Then he was able to name the unfamiliar feeling. Jealousy. He was jealous of this Starbolt and Rickie. The notion was so ridiculous, he and Rickie had stopped dating so long ago, yet that was what it undoubtedly was.

"Yes." Brent answered in a terse voice.

Rickie blinked, slightly taken aback by his response. "Oh-kay. I'm gonna go. Bye, uh, Brent."

"Don't call me Brent," He snapped, "Only my friends call me that."

A part of him regretted those words as soon as they were out. Stupid, stupid, stupid; that was too impulsive. Hurt flashed across her face, but it was gone just as quickly as it was there. Her expression hardened.

"Fine, then," She said, "Have a good night, _Brandon_."

He flinched slightly, but she didn't notice. Rickie had already walked away, and there was the familiar flash of light signaling her departure.

* * *

 **Review.**


	8. Talks and Roof Top Run-Ins

**This is a late Christmas gift to my readers. To all of you, thank you so much. Merry Christmas! If you don't celebrate it, Happy Holidays! Stay safe, and have a happy New Years!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

* * *

"Dam," Rickie muttered. "That virus really did a number on this system."

Her eyes scanned the lines of code flashing across her screen. She hadn't started working on this part of the system yet. The light from the screen tinted her face blue, the room around her shrouded in darkness.

"Oi, Bird Brain!"

Her head snapped up at the familiar voice, and she nearly hissed when the light was turned on. Cyborg stood in front of her, looking the same as always. For a few moments, she stood staring at him in shock, blinking her eyes under her mask to adjust to the light.

"Wow," Cyborg chuckled, "You really are a vampire."

"Shut up, Cy," Rickie grumbled. "Why are you here?"

"I came," Cyborg said, "to lend a hand. Hello to you, too."

"And to check up on me," Rickie added. She sent him an accusing look.

"Can you blame me?" He asked her defensively. "It's been a week since Cory saw you and you said you'd stop by, we're all worried you're going to disappear again."

She'd kind of been planning to disappear again.

"I know, I know," Rickie sighed, "Still, it's annoying."

"Yeah well, deal with it," Cyborg said, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Oh, and by the way, Donna's pissed."

Rickie winced. "Don't remind me."

Cyborg just smirked. "You know she'll give you hell. She will come eventually."

"Ugh," Rickie said by way of response.

Cyborg threw his head back and laughed.

"So," he asked casually, "What have you got here?"

Rickie looked away from him, hiding the small smile on her face.

* * *

Kaldur contently sat at the kitchen table in the Cave. It was one of those rare times where the Cave was quiet, and he had it almost to himself. Nightwing was the room repairing the computers, and he was pretty sure Beast Boy was lurking around somewhere. The green shape-shifter had mentioned bringing a friend into the Cave, and claimed he cleared it with Batman.

Some time ago, Kaldur had met Cyborg, and then Beast had quickly dragged Cyborg away. After years of leading the Team, there were some things Kaldur had learned to simply not ask about.

The sound of the Zeta Tube going off again shattered his peace.

 **RECOGNIZED: WONDER GIRL B-017**

"NIGHTWING!"

Kaldur's mouth dropped open as an angry Donna Troy – whom he hadn't seen face to face in a few years – stormed into the kitchen looking absolutely pissed.

"Hi, Kal," She said, "Now . . . _Where. Is. She?!"_

Donna muttered something darkly about killing her.

He stared at her in shock. "Wonder Girl . . ."

Except, of course, she wasn't Wonder Girl anymore. Cassie was.

"The name isn't Wonder Girl anymore," Donna said, like she'd been reading his mind. She glanced around, her ice blue eyes impatiently looking for Nightwing. "It's Troia now. I work with the Titans."

"Titans?" Kaldur questioned. He vaguely remembered that name from somewhere before.

"Yes," Donna said, her tone irritated, "We used to be called the Teen Titans, but we changed the name. Not all of us are teenagers anymore."

She tucked a strand of black hair, the same color as Wonder Woman's, behind her ear.

Kaldur continued staring blankly at Donna. He asked again, "Titans?"

As murderous as Donna looked right now, Kaldur was too happy about seeing his friend again. He was also too curious. Donna sighed, resigned to answering his questions. She knew that Nightwing most definitely heard her, but Donna had no clue where she was in the Cave.

And if she hadn't come out by now, Nightwing would be a little longer. Donna had figured it out a while ago that if Nightwing didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be.

Whatever. Donna could wait.

"Ever heard of a superhero group out in California?" She asked Kaldur.

Kaldur nodded. "Yes, I believe Cas – a few of the Team has mentioned hearing about them."

Donna gave him a tired smile. "It's okay, Kaldur. I'm alright with the new Wonder Girl. Cassie Sandsmark, is it?"

"Yes, but how did you know that?" Kaldur asked.

"Nightwing told me," Donna admitted.

"Oh," Kaldur said, "Do you two talk often?"

Donna scowled. Kaldur immediately got the feeling he just trespassed on a touchy subject. He studied Donna's reaction carefully. She pulled her black, button up coat around her tighter, messing around with her grey knit cap and putting her hand in the pocket of her jeans to check for her phone. Her black hair was in a ponytail.

She resembled Diana in some ways, though Donna was her own person.

In turn, Donna's ice blue eyes studied him. Kaldur knew he was taller than the last time she had seen him with a little more muscle. His blond hair had grown out from the military cut he had at Black Manta's. The black fleece and grey sweatpants were simple, yet comforting. Even thought it had been years, Kaldur still took pleasure in the little comforts different from the strict lifestyle he had lived at Black Manta's.

Donna said, "We used to. We stopped talking as much a couple months ago, so myself and a few of my – our – friends headed over to her place. She said she'd try to stay in touch better after Cory saw her, but . . ."

Donna sighed.

Kaldur blinked, momentarily forgetting about his question, then nodded sympathetically. Nightwing could, admittedly, be evasive when she wanted to be.

"She just didn't call us back," Donna said, frustrated. "I – We were ready to go over to her place again and stage another intervention but then I – we - were informed she was here."

Kaldur quirked an eyebrow, silently asking quite a few questions, but he never got the chance to open his mouth, nor did Donna ever get the chance to answer his questions.

"Um, hey, Donna," Nightwing awkwardly interrupted them.

The murderous look returned to Donna's face. Kaldur took a few steps back and stood by the very edges of the kitchen as Donna confronted Nightwing.

"I'm going to kill you," Donna glared at Nightwing, "Do you know how worried I was? How worried we all were? You're such an idiot! I swear, I have never met someone more moronic!"

"Donna, listen," Nightwing started to say.

Donna's glare increased. Nightwing flinched, and she looked away guiltily.

"No, I will not listen," Donna hissed. "You could have been dead or worse, and we wouldn't have known. And, you left me to run all of the Titans!" Her voice cracked as she asked, "Why'd you just disappear on us?!"

Rickie knew that her friend meant, _why'd you just disappear on me?!_

Donna continued ranting, cursing and gesturing with her hands furiously. The whole time, Nightwing looked down at her feet guiltily. She shoved down the guilt that forced itself up the more Donna spoke.

She felt small. Very, very small in the face of Donna's very justified anger, which seemed to fill the entire room.

"I just . . ." the anger seemed the drain out of Donna the more she ranted, and Rickie saw the frustrated tears in Donna's eyes. "I was worried about you, okay? Sometimes you worry me, 'Wing, and for good reason, too."

"I know," Nightwing said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Nightwing and Donna stared at each other for a moment, and Donna softened as she noticed how exhausted her friend looked. The Amazon sighed.

"I hate you," Donna informed Rickie, a few tears slipping out.

Nightwing, or rather Rickie, had watery eyes too. She never meant to make the Donna and the Titans worry. But how could she explain just how bad Desmond had gotten? How could she explain Deathstroke? Deathstroke, who to them was better known as Slade. The Titans knew her history with Slade. They knew about the forced apprenticeship, hell they helped get her out of it, risking their own lives because of the nanobots in them.

They would never let her get anywhere near him, but Rickie didn't want to run. Her life in Bludhaven meant something to her.

"I know," Rickie simply said.

Her friends would want to help, and they'd get hurt. Desmond would definitely hurt them to get to her. Deathstroke would hurt them maybe for a trap, similar reasons as Desmond's, maybe for revenge on the Titans, or because they're in the way. It's not that she wouldn't appreciate the help, but . . . she didn't want them to get hurt. Maybe this was stupid. Rickie wanted to keep them out of it, and it was more than just the exile terms that kept her quiet.

She was _scared._

"You're such an idiot," Donna told her, pulling away from their hug. She wiped away the tears furiously with the back of her hand.

Rickie grinned and laughed, but she wanted to cry some more.

She wanted to lean her head on Donna's shoulder and have a Girl's Night like they would at Titan's Tower, with Raven complaining the whole time as they watched various chick flicks, braided hair, and gossiped, occasionally insulting villains in creative ways.

"Yeah," she said, "I guess I can be an idiot."

"Guess?" Donna raised an eyebrow, "Who said anything about guessing? I _know_ you're an idiot."

This time Donna was the one who laughed, finding the offended look on Rickie's face hilarious.

With wide eyes, Kaldur stood in the door way of the kitchen, not daring to come any closer. He heard heavy footsteps behind him, and when he turned Kaldur saw Cyborg.

"Hi," Cyborg raised his hand. He directed his question at Donna, "I thought you said you wouldn't go?"

The two young women turned to look at Cyborg, the look on their faces eerily similar.

Donna shrugged. "I wanted to yell at her myself."

"Seriously?"

* * *

Nightwing glanced at him.

"Great," she said, "You're here."

Jason, decked out in his Red Hood gear, snorted. "Someone sounds happy."

"I'm practically bursting with joy," Nightwing sarcastically informed him. "What do you want? Shouldn't you be terrorizing the criminals in Gotham?"

Red Hood scoffed, "I can't just drop by?"

Her mask moved as she raised her eyebrow. Crossing her arms, she answered, "No."

"Whatever," Jason said dismissively, "I pissed off Bats and decided to stop by. Why are you in such a bad mood?"

She paused. "Did you just admit to running away from a fight?"

If he noticed her dodging his question, he didn't say anything.

"Like hell," Red Hood snapped, "I just figured I'd piss you off and it'd be a fair fight. The two of you against me, working together like old times."

She tensed. Jason and her had a tentative truce ever since the incident, which meant that they just let the other know they were alive every once in a while. She'd only been face-to-face with him twice. Those encounters went okay.

But not this one. She knew this one wasn't going to be okay the minute she felt her mouth opening and felt herself speaking the words. Her expression soured, and the corners of her lips turned down.

"Get out," Nightwing snapped.

"Excuse me?"

She repeatedly slowly, "Get out of my city."

Rickie regretted the words as soon as she said them. It felt too much like something Bruce would say, and that was probably the last thing Jason needed right now. The encounter with Donna and Cyborg earlier that day had deprived her of all her people skills, though. She just wanted a moment to think and not dodge questions.

"Why?" Red Hood crossed his arms stubbornly. "Because you're not in the mood?"

Yes, she wanted to say, but knew how pathetic that sounded – how pathetic it was.

"No," Nightwing stubbornly denied, "I . . ."

Jason interrupted, angrily telling her, "You're just like him. 'My' city. It's a fucking city, Golden Girl!"

The comment that she was just like him got to her more than she was willing to admit.

"Shut UP!"

Red Hood was already gone.

Still, she shouted into the night, "And don't murder anyone while you're here!"

She must've looked crazy, screaming at no one, and if anyone heard her they definitely would've had questions. But Nightwing could've sworn she heard an answering yell. It sounded an awful lot like screw you, but with less polite words.

Nightwing kicked the air, letting out a sharp exhale. She distractedly ran a hand through her hair, then fixed it. After that, she paced the roof top, feeling too energetic but unwilling to leave the roof of the building she was on. Her face was flushed, and she glared at the ground as she paced. Nightwing struggled to find the words to describe her frustration. She just . . . She needed to punch something, that was how it felt. She needed to scream at the world.

So that was what she did.

"Screw you, Justice League! Screw you!"

Sure, it made Nightwing look crazier. If anyone filmed that (doubtful, she was on a pretty tall building) she was screwed, because it would go on the news and there would be too many questions. Superheroes had an unspoken code, keep the drama between them out of the public eye, for obvious reasons.

But it made her feel better. Her heartbeat started to slow down, though it felt like some had torn her heart out of her chest.

Yeah. Today was one of those days.

She started to breathe slowly in an effort to calm down, relishing the cold air. The more time that passed, the less muddled her thoughts were. That was when she noticed it, out of the corner of her eye. The shadow of a figure on the roof diagonal to hers, visible because of a flickering streetlight. The figure shifted.

She narrowed her eyes. Nightwing crept towards the edge of the roof at the same time gripping her grappling gun. Instinct told her it wasn't Jason. Years of experience demanded she duck behind something solid, then sneak away and check security cameras. Curiosity demanded she investigate. It really wasn't that hard of a choice for her, in the end.

She took a split second to make one, before grappling to the next roof. The shadow realized she was coming a split second before she jumped off the roof and swung over. Alarmed, the shadow sprung up, revealing itself to be a person dressed in all black with - ahm - glowing yellow eyes. He, she could definitely tell the shadow was a guy, whipped out knives, and she ducked behind the air conditioning unit on the roof as one was aimed straight for her.

It clanged as it hit the air conditioning unit, and fell to the ground. Her attacker shifted, not that eager for a fight. Whoever this person was, they clearly hadn't been expecting to be spotted.

He advanced and threw punches at her, and Nightwing's eyes widened. She could tell this guy was trained. Well-trained, and everything about his attacks screamed assassin. She knew enough of them to recognize one when she saw them. But this guy wasn't dressed like someone from the League of Shadows.

"Whoa!"

She ducked another knife and was greeted by a kick to her head. Nightwing snapped backwards, laying sprawled on her back. Admittedly, she may not have thought this through. What was the saying? Curiosity killed the cat?

"Owww . . ."

 _But satisfaction brought it back_ , Nightwing thought.

She rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding having her face being stomped by a combat boot. Nightwing stood and brought out her escrima sticks, grimacing as she surveyed her opponent. There was a copper taste in her mouth, and carefully she probed at her split lip, feeling the ache in her chin from where she was kicked and the burn from where she bit her lip. That would leave a mark in the morning.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" Nightwing asked. She clutched her escrima sticks tighter.

All she got was glare as the man took a few steps backwards.

"Any good reason why you just happened to be on a roof near me?"

Nothing, except the glare. Really, it was almost like talking to Batman. He took a few more steps backwards and she followed warily, knowing he packed a punched.

"Well okay then . . ."

Whatever Nightwing was going to say next was broken off when, tired of talking, the shadow back flipped off the edge of the roof. Naturally, she jumped off the roof after him, watching as he made an impossible landing below on another roof and breaking into a run when he should have broken his ankles.

She used her grappling gun, knowing there was no way she'd survive the jump and wondering how the shadow did. Because no human could've survived that. Nightwing was given no time to think about this as she raced after him, jumping and grappling from one roof to another. Each jump he got further away, and then he was gone, jumping down into an alley way between two buildings, melting into the shadows as quickly as he'd come.

She followed, landing on the fire escape, but the shadow was gone. Breathing heavily, she doubled over, her hands on her knees. Frustrated, she stood up, leaning against the fire escape and muttering curses.

Getting an idea, Nightwing returned to the roof where she first spotted and fought the stranger. She picked up something from the ground, and stared at the owl engraved on the dagger that was chucked at her head.

* * *

Walking into the station, she wore jeans and black button up jacket against the chill, her cheeks flushed from the cold. Fire was in her eyes as she stalked to the woman's locker room to change into her uniform. Changing quickly, she messed with the collar as she walked out. The police duty belt had handcuffs, pepper spray, a Taser, and other gadgets they were trained to use in the Police Academy. Including a gun, which Rickie had been certified for.

Not quite the gadgets she was used to having on her utility belt as Nightwing, but they worked.

She walked towards the tiny broom closet office she shared with her senior partner, knowing Archie would already be in there. Rickie had a cup full of coffee shoved into her hands by Archie as soon as she walked in. Surprised, she looked at him gratefully, and Archie waved his hand dismissively.

She sat down at her beat up desk, which looked like a strong wind could topple it. "Any cases?"

"Nah," Archie said, "We'll be out on patrol today, though, and it's Haven. We're bound to get a few calls from dispatch."

Rickie made a face. "Yeah, but the last one we got from dispatch, the drunk guy disturbing the peace hit on me."

He laughed, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled. "You're a rookie. It's part of being a rookie cop, dispatch gives you the calls the senior cops don't want."

"At this point," Rickie glanced sideways at him as she shuffled a few reports off to the side, "I'm not a rookie anymore."

"You're definitely still a rookie," Archie said, smirking.

Rickie scowled in his direction.

"Whatever, let's just start our shift," she said.

Archie grimaced. "It's a twelve hour one this time, instead of a ten hour shift."

She hid her own grimace. "Then let's get started after the coffee wakes us up a little."

Her partner snorted. "Fine by me."

* * *

Dragging herself to the Cave to work took a considerable amount of effort and willpower on Rickie's part. She was always exhausted after twelve hour shifts, but at least this one had been during the day, so she still had on opportunity to patrol as Nightwing. She also had a few hours to kill before she patrolled as Nightwing, so Rickie had decided to come here, when she really probably should've taken a nap.

"Nightwing?"

Surprised, she turned around and saw Zach standing there in civvies, a purple T-shirt shirt and jeans. He looked the same as he had the last time she'd seen him, neat black hair and baby blue eyes, and he held himself confidently. She paused for a moment.

Zach nodded to himself. "I figured it was you. Heard that you'd be coming around from Batman."

"Is there anyone he didn't tell?" Rickie sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of her nose.

The magician shrugged, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. The two of them stared awkwardly at each other for a few moments, the words they said last time they saw each other hanging in the air.

Zach and Rickie, admittedly, had a history. She'd dated him for about two years of her life, until shortly before she left for Jump City and created the Teen Titans. They never dated since, but he'd been one of her closest friends for years. She'll admit she'd thought about him sometimes, but it would honestly feel weird if she ever dated him again.

Zach would always be her first love, and he'd always hold a little piece of her. But both of them felt that they weren't it for each other. So they moved on, yet stayed friends. Come to think of it, she generally stayed friends with her past exes. Maybe that was her superpower.

Zach cleared his throat.

She told him awkwardly, "I should probably go."

"Yeah," he agreed, turning away. He paused, his body half-turned towards her. "For what it's worth, it's . . . good seeing you again."

She remembered the countless movie nights, cheesy pick-up lines, and late night conversations between them. The number of missions they had gone on and come out of together. The words she had said the last time she saw him.

"Yeah," Rickie was surprised to find herself saying, "It's good to see you, too."

She walked off in the direction of her work room.

* * *

It wasn't really that much of a surprise when later Damian Wayne burst into her work room, which had apparently become one of his favorite hang outs. Looking up, Rickie noted the clenched fists and stubborn set to Damian's jaw.

"Red Robin?" She asked.

Damian sneered. "That imbecile Drake - "

"No names in the field," Rickie chided.

"We're not in the field," Damian huffed, and he crossed his arms.

She rolled her eyes. "No using names around unsafe places, then. Wanna talk about it?"

"No," Damian snapped.

She tried not to laugh, but Rickie still smiled a little.

"Okay then," she said, "Well, is there any reason you came here?"

"It's the only place one can find any peace and quiet around here," Damian scoffed.

She didn't bother pointing out that it was a weak lie.

"Uh huh," Rickie said doubtfully. She smiled again to show Damian she was just teasing him.

Damian scowled. "Why do you have a split lip, you idiot?"

She touched her bottom lip, like she just remembered the split lip.

"I ran into a wall," Rickie smirked, but she remembered her opponent last night with the yellow eyes.

Her little brother looked like he didn't believe her. No surprise there.

"You know I get injured sometimes," Rickie reminded him, dropping the smirk.

"I suppose," Damian said stiffly.

"Now, Lil D," Rickie said, and using the nickname distracted him like she hoped it would as Damian glared at her darkly. "What movie are we on now?"

She quickly put away her work, and instead pulled up the holoscreen in front of the couch. Checking the time, she realized there was enough to watch one movie.

Damian shrugged. "The one where those two imbeciles unsuccessfully try to assassinate a baby."

"Hercules, then," Rickie said nonchalantly. She brought up the Disney movie and hit play, smiling to herself as Damian became absorbed in the story.

* * *

 **If you celebrate it, Merry Christmas! Even if it's a little late.**

 **If you don't celebrate it, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Hope you have a great New Years.**


	9. Chapter 9

**My dearest readers, thanks for sticking with me.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

One moment, she was flipping and grappling on from rooftop to rooftop, heading back towards her hideout because the sun would be up in an hour or two. She was still nursing a few bruises and a healing split lip from her fight with golden-eyed assassin.

Then their was that terrifying split second where she was free falling as something cut through her grappling hook before there was pain as something collided with her shins and then she was gasping, lying flat on her back on a roof and trying to breathe through the pain after the abrupt landing. Her ribs felt funny in the way that she knew they were probably bruised and it almost made her scowl again. Her healing split lip stung and she tasted blood in her mouth, letting Nightwing know it had been reopened.

When she could make out the crunch of boots on the rooftop, Nightwing struggled to lift her head, to tell her body to move, but it was having difficultly cooperating fast enough.

"Shit," she breathed when she saw Slade Wilson, sword drawn.

Get up - she should get up. Before she could even really try, Slade pressed the tip of his sword against the bright blue bird on her uniform, forcing her to stay down.

"Sloppy," Slade drawled. "Careless. I trained you better than that."

"I never asked for the training," Nightwing spat. Her face was twisted with pain and defiance.

She was in deep, deep trouble - had Blockbuster called in his contract already? Where the hell had the time gone? Her thoughts raced as she tried to calculate a way, even if Nightwing knew that if Slade intended to kill her, she'd already be dead. The only reason she wasn't already was because he was in a chatty mood.

"You can relax," Slade snorted, "Your every emotion is written on your face."

She scowled. With all the venom she could muster, she wheezed out, "Shut up."

She was ignored, and if she wasn't in so much pain she'd be really pissed. Actually, she was pissed, but mostly her broken thought process right now was along the lines of, _oh shit oh shit oh shit_ to _don't kill me don't kill me, Dami''d be pissed_ to _fuck I hope nothing's broken._

"I'm not killing you," she heard Slade say, "You have far worse people than me coming your way."

He almost sounded amused, which made her paused. Mindful of the sharp sword pointing at her chest, Nightwing propped herself up on her elbows, lying on her back. Slade let her, and she wondered if he was close enough that she could sweep his legs out from under him.

"What?" She spluttered. "Worse people?"

He was too far, Nightwing realized, having kept far enough away using his weapon to give him the extra distance. Slade was well-trained, hell he trained her, she'd actually be a little disappointed if she was able to sweep his legs out from under him while he was monologuing.

"I," Slade repeated lazily, "am not going to kill you for Roland Desmond. Not after all that time I spent teaching you."

He truly did almost sound disappointed in her. Rickie resisted the urge to snarkily ask Slade if he'd been dealing with twelve hour shifts, Nightwing patrol, lack of sleep, and her life in general. His words however did imply that he would happily kill her, just on his own terms. And his teaching. When she'd agreed to let him mentor her after he injected a bunch of nanobots into her friends. She'd learned things during those few months she hadn't ever wanted to know.

A cold shiver went down her spine. "Then - "

Slade was already gone.

Nightwing pulled one knee up to her chest and sat up. She rested her forehead on her knee for a moment. Her bruises still stung.

"Shit," she muttered. Nightwing tugged her hand through her pony tail. Her ribs hurt, but they were bruised, not broken. She should probably wrap them before work.

She stood up and felt like a weight was pushing her down. The sounds of the city provided a calming sound track, and Nightwing dug out her spare grappling hook. She looked carefully at the ends of the severed one, idly wondering what Slade used. The grappling hooks weren't exactly easy to break. Tucking it way in her utility belt, Nightwing aimed her grappling hook and told herself that her hands weren't trembling slightly. She gripped the grappling hook harder.

Dragging herself back to the Nest wasn't that hard, even if she was coming back with a few more bruises than when she started out. Rickie peeled off layers off the top of her uniform and leaned against the back of her couch. She winced when she experimentally poked her split lip. Checking the time, Rickie changed out of the rest of her Nightwing gear and was left in the tank top and leggings she wore underneath.

Rickie walked towards he mini-kitchen and the bottle of pain killers rattled when she opened them. It took her less than a minute to dry swallow them, and when she had done that Rickie leaned forward against the counter. She shut her eyes and hunched her shoulders. She still had work to go to. This wasn't the time to collapse in an unconscious heap, never mind the fact that she hadn't slept for more than fifteen minutes in the past two days.

She opened her eyes, and they strayed to the dagger lying next to her coffee maker. For lack of a better place to put it, Rickie had left it there after bringing it back the other night. She studied the carved owl on the hint, which made her blood run cold. Rickie rubbed her face tiredly. She had work to get to.

It was easy to slip out of the Nest and scale the fire escape leading to her own apartment silently. She climbed through the window and paused, listening for any sounds in her apartment. Satisfied, Rickie went into the bathroom and showered, sighing in relief at the hot water on her sore muscles. She turned the water off and went back into her room with the towel rapped around her body.

The pain killers helped with her ribs, but if she moved the wrong way they still gave a funny twinge. She wrapped them with a practiced ease that came with years of experience.

She changed quickly into a pair of jeans and her BPD sweatshirt, not bothering with a shirt under it. She gulped down two cups of coffee and nibbled on a granola bar, checking the time and debating if there was enough left that she could grab something more substantial to eat. Sighing when she realized there wasn't, Rickie grabbed her keys and locked the door behind her.

* * *

By the time she walked into the station, changed into her uniform while dodging questions about the bandages, and started walking towards the office she shared with Archie, Rickie had already had at least seven cups of coffee. Now, she more closely resembled a zombie instead of a corpse. She'd take what she could get. She sipped her eighth cup of coffee, and wondered how much caffeine the human body could have. Police shifts were brutal. It was something she learned quickly.

When she first became an officer, as the rookie she usually got the night shifts. 7pm to 7 am, and working 10-hour shifts was about as much fun as it sounded. Occasionally, she worked 12-hour shifts. Not counting any times she had a double shift or covered for something. Despite the crappy hours, she loved her job.

So, needless to say, coffee had become her best friend. When she first started out, Rickie had been forced to cut back the amount of time she spend as Nightwing. Some criminals picked up on it. Some didn't. All of them knew she was still around. Rickie had managed to make that clear if they started spreading rumors she was gone. Thankfully, since she wasn't exactly a rookie anymore and at least had some respect of her fellow officers, Rickie wasn't always working nights. This meant more time as Nightwing, and more time to bartend.

She reached the tiny office she shared with Archie, where they met up before their shifts.

"Oh thank God," Rickie's shoulders slumped, and her mouth watered at the smell of a bagel.

She felt like she could cry. It made her feel a bit pathetic, but she didn't care. Her stomach growled, protesting the lack of actual food this morning.

"Figured you might be hungry," Archie said wryly, greeting her, "You look like crap, kid."

"Thanks," Rickie said. "I feel like crap, too."

"What happened?" Archie frowned, carefully studying her split lip.

"Got jumped on the way home," Rickie lied easily, "I'm fine. You know I've got a nasty right hook."

"You let him go?" Archie raised an eyebrow. He didn't look like he was buying it.

"He was a kid," Rickie shrugged, "And he was nervous. His hand kept shaking. I felt bad for him."

He shook his head. "You and your bleeding heart."

"You know me," Rickie grinned faintly, her split lip stinging.

"The night's off to a good start," Archie muttered. He rubbed his eyes. "You're going to be the death of me."

Rickie smirked. "Let's get this party started."

It was not a party. Not even close to it.

In fact, if she was coffee-powered zombie when she started her shift, then by the end of it Rickie was mostly dead. Her feet were dragging when she waved a goodbye to Archie and headed to the locker room. It was a twelve hour shift, and she was always half-dead after a twelve hour shift, especially if she had been patrolling as Nightwing the day before. Due to lack of sleep (being unconscious didn't count) she felt a bit lightheaded.

Her single goal was to get back to her home as fast as a person could be without possessing superpowers. One of her fellow female officers changing in the locker room looked at Rickie with wide-eyed concerned, and she brushed it off. Rickie didn't bother changing out of her uniform. It needed to be washed anyways, and she still had the bandages around her ribs. Instead, she grabbed her BPD sweatshirt and threw it on over her uniform. She stuffed anything she needed in her bag, and then she started to walk home.

Rickie mumbled a few goodbye's and hello's to the familiar faces just starting their own shifts, receiving more than a few alarmed looks from some of them. She squinted in the daylight, and scowled grumpily. Rickie managed the walk to her apartment with a hand clutching her bruised ribs and her sore muscles whining with every movement. She didn't make it to her room once she got to her apartment and took more pain killers.

Rickie passed out on the couch.

* * *

 _The bar was empty, and a young woman behind the bar wiped down the counter, taking glasses and pushing past a door to give them to another woman, who washed them. They worked in silence for a few minutes, falling into a routine, something Rickie was grateful for._

 _Hogan's Bar was a safe haven for her, the dark, low lighting bar familiar to her, and was known for being a cop bar. Both men and women on the force came here, usually the ones who had no place to go after their shift. She talked to them, and they found the young cadet in training amusing. The officers were part of the reasons she became a cop._

 _After police training and patrols, she was exhausted. Dark circles were under her eye, and if she was being honest with herself they weren't entirely the fault of patrols and training. Some of it was lack of sleep, and not eating right._

 _Most of it related to what happened a few months ago, but that was stubbornly ignored by her. She'd made her bed, now she was lying in it._

 _"So," Alene said, "Tomorrow's your birthday, right? The big two oh."_

 _For a moment, Rickie wasn't sure Alene was talking to her. The two women got on well, but Alene was two or so years older, and they weren't really friends, friends. More like just friendly. They ran in different circles of life. Rickie had college, police training, and Nightwing patrols. Alene didn't._

 _"Huh?" Rickie managed to get out._

 _Alene rolled her eyes. "You're turning twenty tomorrow, right?"_

 _"Oh," she realized, "I am."_

 _Funny. She'd almost forgotten._

 _She felt more than saw Alene eye her curiously. Studiously ignoring her gaze, Rickie walked back out the door and grabbed a few glasses off the tables. She silently hoped Alene would just let the matter go._

 _But apparently, Alene was in a chatty mood, because when Rickie came back Alene immediately started speaking again._

 _"Aren't you excited? I mean, you're turning twenty! You should celebrate, go out!"_

 _"Yeah," Rickie agreed, not really focused on the conversation as she grabbed a towel and started drying glasses._

 _The dishwasher hummed in the silence of the kitchen, mixing in with the sound of the running water as Alene continued to wash dishes. Rickie leaned against the counter beside Alene, drying the glasses and stacking them (to be placed in the cabinets in the bar later)._

 _Alene turned off the water, drying her hands and slamming the towel down. She turned to face Rickie, one hand on her hip and the other on the counter with an elegant, raised eyebrow, the angry expression making Rickie freeze. She put down the glass and the towel she was using._

 _"You know," Alene commented, "This is bullshit."_

 _Rickie stared, but said nothing, biting back the worlds at the tip of her tongue._

 _"You, just, this is bullshit. You're bullshit," Alene decided, running a hand through her short black hair, shot through with a few dyed streaks of bright blue and purple._

 _She pointed to the worn, wooden table in the kitchen, ordering Rickie to sit._

 _The acrobat shuffled towards a chair and sat down on the edge of her seat more than a little lost, and lacking her usual grace. She tapped her fingers against the table in a steady beat. Alene grabbed the chair on the other side of the table, pulling it around and straddling the chair._

 _Rickie winced at the loud screeching noise, before tapping her fingers once more. She fought the urge to escape. Alene had pinned her down and Rickie wasn't too happy about being cornered._

 _Ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum._

 _"Talk," Alene said, resting her head on her arms which were on top of the chair._

 _Ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum, ba-da-dum._

 _"Look," Alene bluntly stated, "Something's got you fucked up right now. I don't know if it's some stupid ass guy or what, but clearly – "_

 _"Clearly what?" Rickie interrupted. "Just because I'm a little off right now doesn't mean – "_

 _"A little off?" Alene asked incredulously. Her voice rising, she repeated, "A little off?"_

 _She shifted uncomfortably._

 _"Rickie," Alene frowned sadly, "You're drowning."_

* * *

 _"You're drowning."_

Funny, how years later, those were the words that still echoed in her mind.

With bleary eyes Rickie looked around after jolting awake. She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling her hand trembling ever so slightly. Her nose wrinkled when she realized she was drenched in sweat and still wearing her police uniform. Dragging herself off the bed, she walked silently over to the bathroom, shutting the door and taking a shower, which felt nice on her sore, abused body.

Walking out, she threw on jeans, rewrapped her bruised ribs and grimacing at the bruises before tugging a black t-shirt on. Rickie brushed her hair and let it dry, walking out of her room in search of food. With any luck, there was something semi-edible in her fridge. She smiled in relief when she found the box of Captain Crunch. It was a little stale, but it was food. She mentally ran through what she had to do today, the dream disturbing her more than she was willing to admit.

Her eyes wandered over to her coat and the keys to her apartment. She was sorely tempted to just wander Bludhaven and see where the day took her – it was her day off - but maybe, maybe she could finish that computer work and quit dragging her feet with it. She couldn't explain the unwillingness to finish it too quickly. It probably had to do with the loneliness that came with being Nightwing. She was surrounded by friends, but none of them knew she was Nightwing.

Rickie couldn't stop the frown on her face as she thought about going to Mount Justice, though it wasn't like she had anything better to do at the moment. Her shift for the BPD tomorrow didn't start until seven in the morning. Depending on when she finished her work at the Cave, she would be able to patrol as Nightwing tonight. The bruises on her throbbed painfully as a reminder of her terrible crash landing courtesy of Slade.

Rickie scowled. She was still reeling from her encounter with him, struggling with sense that a rug had just been pulled out from under her feet. His words had left her on unsteady footing and Rickie hated it.

"Damn him," she muttered to herself.

She hadn't allowed herself to think of the implications of that confrontation, beyond the reasoning that it was one less problem she had to deal, though her mind wandered to her letter. Even so, she couldn't stop thinking about what he said. Who had meant by people? She shook her head. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on that now. Rickie grabbed her keys, and phone then yanked her heavy black coat from where it lay carelessly on top of her couch.

Rickie still couldn't shake her feeling of unease, even as she walked out the door and into the world. Part of Rickie knew that Deathstroke, better known to her as Slade, could come back at any time. She often wondered why he took the contract in the first place, but it wasn't that hard to think of an answer. Maybe she'd annoyed him one too many times. He hadn't gone through with it, though perhaps Blockbuster's anger with one of the world's most deadly mercenaries would be mollified by the fact that Slade would kill him should he even try to exact revenge.

His anger that she was still breathing? Well, Nightwing would have to deal with the fall out of that upcoming temper tantrum.

Rickie grimaced. She rolled her shoulders and stretched, feeling the bruises she'd gotten last night whine in protest. She considered the encounter with the golden-eyed person on the roof top. Whoever they had been, they packed a punch. She wondered if perhaps they had anything to do with what Slade said, and her mind flashed to the dagger sitting beside her coffee maker in the Nest.

There was an owl carved into the hilt, and something about it tugged at her memory. It was almost familiar. She mused that she could work out before going to the Cave, since it would probably help with her unease. She needed to take her mind of things for a few hours. Her mind felt like it was mush because of all the information swimming around in her brain.

It wasn't hard to set up rings in the Nest, and she used them frequently. She'd always felt at home in the air, closer to her parents. Changing into work out clothes, a tank top and compression shorts, Rickie started her routine. She flipped in the air a few times, and then held her position with her arms out. Rickie let out a breath before flipping again, and then she let go, performing two flips in the air.

She landed with her legs crossed, one in front of the other, and her hands held up in the air. Rickie grinned to herself. There was an art that came with flipping in the air, twisting and turning her body at exactly the right moment.

It was freedom.

Some time later, Rickie was sweaty and grinning like a fool. The tenseness in her shoulders was gone. Her footsteps were light when Rickie left the Nest and headed inside her apartment. She changed into jeans and some band T-shirt she hadn't realized she still owned. Rickie threw on a jacket and her stomach turned a little queasy as she thought about going to the Cave, but she took a breath and left.

* * *

 _Rickie leaned on the wall the hall of the meeting room. She put her head in her hands, and then ran a hand through her black hair. Rickie rested her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Inside the room, a vote was taking place. She was dressed in her Nightwing gear, and the other heroes in the room were dressed in their gear. She didn't feel like being Nightwing right now though._

 _She didn't feel like being Rickie Grayson right now either._

 _"Nightwing," Kaldur greeted, stepping into the hall and closing the door softly. He frowned when he saw the slumped shoulders of the young woman leaning against the wall._

 _"Kaldur," Rickie said. She eyed his haircut. "Still not used to seeing you with that."_

 _Looking at his Aqualad uniform he wore, she added, "Or that."_

 _Kaldur gave a dry smile. "That is understandable. It has been a long time, my friend."_

 _Rickie scowled. "Don't."_

 _"Don't what?" Kaldur quirked an eyebrow, looking at her with that infinite calm patience that was so familiar to her._

 _"Call me that," she said quietly, "I haven't been a friend in a while, Kaldur. There's been too many secrets and lies."_

 _"You are my friend," Kaldur sighed._

 _Was she?_

* * *

She jolted awake.

Rickie had headed to the Cave after working out, and her body had decided to catch up on sleep when she paused for a few moments on the couch. Waking up later, she realized she felt still felt sore, but it was bearable. She yawned as she sat up, the world spinning for a few moments as the blood rushed to her head. Rickie grimaced as she rubbed a sore spot on her neck. She adjusted her crooked sunglasses, glancing over at the table.

Well, she was here. Might as well do some work.

She leaned on the table, a pencil in hand as she only partially paid attention to the equations, ideas, and solutions she was putting down to replace the code. A good deal of time was passed like this with her working silently as she wrote down ideas, occasionally biting her lip as she thought about the code. Normally, she'd listen to music, but with the way she felt music would give her a headache.

Some lazy, exhausted part of her rebelled at going on the computer to do the actual work. So brainstorming it was. Soon, the side of her right hand was covered in pencil lead. Rickie checked the time, and blinked when she saw it. She knew she got to the Cave later in the day and knew she fell asleep. She knew she'd been working for a while. But, unless someone was playing a trick on her, it was nearly one in the morning.

Which meant either she'd been asleep longer than she thought, or she'd stayed late. Rickie yawned.

Judging by her strong urge to curl up on the floor and sleep, she'd stayed up all night. Rickie sighed, running a hand through her hair and messing it up more. She put the pencil down and cautiously poked her head outside the door. No one. The coast clear, Rickie started her walk down the hallways, by now knowing the twists and turns that led to the zeta tube from her room. She tried to be as quiet as possible, her footsteps light even as she limped slightly. The Cave was relatively quiet considering what time it was.

She managed to make it all the way to the Zeta tube before someone came.

"You didn't have those injuries when I last saw you," Damian said quietly.

She turned, seeing the boy standing there in a long black sleeved turtle neck with dark pants. She fought the urge to coo at how adorable he looked. Now was not the time to praise Damian's fashion sense.

"You know what I do - what we do," Rickie told him, "I'm bound to be hurt sometimes."

Damian crossed his arms, not convinced.

"I suppose you have no knowledge of the rumors that Deathstroke was hired to kill Nightwing," he said flatly. "And that he refused."

She frowned, knowing she couldn't explain it to him. He would go after Desmond and get hurt. She mentally cringed at the thought of Desmond meeting Damian. So she went to her default, use humor to play it off.

She shrugged, a lopsided smile on her face when she told him, "None at all."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth. She hadn't really heard the rumors, but she had known Slade was hired to kill her. That plan had changed though, and she wondered what direction her life would be going now. Rickie was able to easily ignore the glare Damian sent her. She'd ignored the Bat glare for years, Damian's glare wasn't going to work on her either.

"Hey, look," Rickie said softly, the joking tone still there, but with a note of genuine concern in her voice, "I want you to stay out of this, okay? It's nothing I can't handle. I'll manage."

Damian snorted. "Clearly, you haven't handled it well, Nightwing, if you look this horrible."

Her voice turned serious when she told him, "Just promise me you'll stay out of it. It's just Desmond being a normal must-kill-the-hero bad guy."

It was more than that, Rickie suspected that there were connections she hadn't made or even seen yet. She didn't know what the assassin with the golden eyes was that attacked her, but she did know she wanted Damian far, far away from it. Maybe that made her selfish, since Damian didn't need any protecting, but she was past the point of caring.

"Fine," Damian scowled rebelliously.

It was as good as she could hope for. As trained as he was, Damian hadn't really ever been out on a real patrol. He didn't even have a hero name.

"Good," Rickie relaxed, glad that she wouldn't have to worry about this brother for a bit. "Go home, Damian, I'm going to get some sleep."

Damian narrowed his eyes.

She crossed her fingers. "I promise."

Rickie ruffled his hair on the way out, smiling when he swatted her hand away.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

 **Let me know what you guys think. This ended up longer than usual, but I had to cut out a lot of stuff during edits, and some stuff I couldn't bare to leave out. Over all, I'm satisfied with how this turned out. I've been really busy a lot in the real world, finals are coming up and everything is due right now, so those take priority, but I'm writing when I can, or thinking about writing when I'm not.**

 **Review.**


End file.
